


A Journey between Realms

by Pandor4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dimension Travel, Doomed Timelines, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Ered Luin, F/M, Feels, Pre-Hobbit Movies, Romance, magical curses, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandor4/pseuds/Pandor4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione is attacked by a rogue death eater. Cursed, she finds herself in the realm of Middle Earth and in the company of Thorin Oakenshield. Befuddled by how the curse works, Hermione journey's with Thorin while trying to find a way to control her own fate. [Hermione/Thorin]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inter Regna Itinere

 

 

It was two years after Harry had finally defeated Voldemort and Hermione felt as if the wizarding world had changed little. A little over one year ago she had applied to various jobs within in the ministry of magic. At the time her heart had been set upon a position within the department of mysteries, or even the Regulation and Control of Magical Animals. Instead the ministry had offered her a clerical position within the Department of Magical Transportation, and Hermione absolutely hated her job.

When she had first started working there, her hopes had been large. It was the opportunity to work within the Ministry, and surely she would be able to slowly work her way into a more desirable position once her supervisors saw what a fantastic employee she was. Unfortunately, this was not the case and today had proved it. Her co-worker, a girl a year older than her, not terribly bright (in Hermione’s opinion) and a rather vocal pureblood had just been given a promotion to a position that Hermione knew she herself was better suited for. It was obvious to Hermione the reason that their department head had passed over her, but there was still no concrete way in which Hermione could object to her co-workers promotion while she herself was left within the meaningless clerical position.

Sighing in frustration Hermione continued to walk down Diagon Alley towards a small magical grocery store. With her mind focused on the injustice that continued to be found within the wizarding world, Hermione was unfortunately not in her most observant state of mind. As soon as she was past the store front windows of the apothecary she felt to strong hands grab her and pull her into the small space between the buildings. With one of her captor’s hands clamped firmly over her mouth, and her captor’s other arm wrapped around her arms and chest, pulling her deeper into the tiny space Hermione felt a cold flash of panic begin to grip at her mind.

She tried to pull away, but the man was strong. She screamed against his hand, but the rational part of her mind knew that no one would likely hear her. She had been working rather late, and the Alley was almost all but deserted at this time of night.

Struggling fiercely against her captor she was caught off balance when he roughly pushed her away. She tumbled over her own feet, crashing into the wall of the small alleyway before falling to the ground. Her hand immediately went to the holster on her arm where her wand was safely tucked away, but before she had even gotten her hand halfway there a deep voice growled out, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Hermione’s mind cried out in terror as her body froze. She was on her knees facing away from her captor and her eyes strained to see who was behind her. There was a soft rumbling chuckle and slowly the man walked around to stand in front of her. It was Antonin Dolohov. Through the dim light Hermione could see that there was a mad gleam in his eyes. He was one of the few death eaters that had somehow managed to escape imprisonment at the Battle of Hogwarts. While he had been defeated by Professor Flitwick, he had not been killed and in a moment of his captor’s absence he had been rescued by one of his fellow death-eaters.

He was one of the last few remaining death-eaters out there and Hermione knew why. He was smart, and while he was terrible and cruel, he was also extremely sharp whited. It had not surprised her over the past year to hear Harry and Ron, coming back from working with the Aurora’s ,complaining of how Dolohov had escaped their grasp time after time.

And now he was attacking her. If she had not been held still by his curse she knew she would be trembling.

With a mocking smile he stared into her eyes as he reached out to her and pulled down on the collar of her shirt to reveal a jagged scar that ran down from her collar bone. “I almost had you that time,” he whispered, his thumb stroking the soft silvery skin of the scar. “So close, if only my aim had been a bit truer that day.”

Hermione could feel the tears filling her eyes. Unable to blink them away her vision began to blur. Unfortunately this only seemed to please the man more. In a soft cooing voice he coddled her. “There, there. Don’t cry now. This will all be over soon.” Dolohov knelt down in front of her so that they were at eye level. “Besides, I am not going to kill you. That would be too good of an end for you,” he said with another mocking smile. “No, I have something much better in store for you.”

Dolohov brought his wand up and pointed it directly between Hermione’s eyes. The tears were flowing freely down her face now, and she could barely make out face of her captor. “Do try and have a good time with this,” Dolohov said with a hollow laugh.

“Inter Regna Itinere!”

Hermione was blinded with violent purple light and then she watched in horror as the building and Dolohov seemed to stretch before her into long towering bands of color, growing brighter and brighter until finally it was only white light that enveloped her.

* * *

Thorin was not having one of his best days. Firstly, it was raining. Secondly, the roof of his workshop had numerous leaks. Scowling up at the beams of the workshop, Thorin vowed to himself that he would leave this miserable little town soon. He had left the Blue Mountains to find work as a blacksmith in some of the far outlying towns of men, but with his coin purse growing fatter once again it was time to start thinking about returning home to his sister and her sons.

With a frustrated sigh Thorin set aside his blacksmith’s hammer and undid the thick leather apron. His father would be laughing at him now if he could see him. Thorin Oakenshield, the King-in-Exile, was now a common blacksmith. With a scowl firmly set on his face he walked back towards the corner of the small workshop while listening to the pitter-pattering of the rain on the roof. The workshop was not technically his, hence its state of obvious disrepair, but the men of the town had granted him access to it, and allowed him to lodge within it so long as he was doing work for the townspeople. He had arrived here over a fortnight ago and found that the town was generally lacking in any type of simulating work. There were farmers that came to him to commission new tools or to repair their old ones, and a few of the housewives came to ask him to make new pots or pans for their kitchens. None of it was a challenge, and it only worsened his mood.

Sitting down at the small table that occupied the space along the back wall, Thorin lit a small candle. Digging into the covered basket that sat on the table, he came back out with a chunk of cheese and a small loaf of bread, both of which he had purchased earlier that morning. He wondered what his sister, Dis, was serving tonight, and had to figure that it was something more appetizing than plain bread and drying cheese.

Slicing into the cheese with his knife, Thorin dejectedly stared out his open doorway at the street which was very quickly becoming a lake of mud. There would be no new work today, or even possibly tomorrow with everyone staying inside to avoid the rain and mud.

With that thought in mind, he decided abruptly that once the roads had dried, he would leave. He was spending almost as much money living here as he was bringing in from the small jobs that the town was able to provide for him. It was time for him to go home again. Home. The thought made him laugh bitterly to himself. While it had been many years since he had finally given into calling the Blue Mountains home, it still made his heart ache and remind him of what had been lost.

‘One day…One day we really will go home…” he thought to himself. His thoughts turned to Erebor, he almost jumped when a blindingly bright flash of light illuminated his doorway and the one window that led outside. “Lightning?” was his first thought. He sat still, his ears straining to pick up the sound of thunder, but none came.

He was about to dismiss it when a figure appeared in his doorway. It was a young woman, soaking wet and covered in mud.

“May I come in?” she asked as her eyes landed on him.

He gave a curt nod, and stood up, wondering all the while what in the world she was doing traveling to his workshop on such a day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this first installment of the Journey Between Realms. It is currently without a beta reader. If anyone is interested in being a beta for this story, or even just being someone to bounce ideas back and forth with please let me know.
> 
> As always, I hope you will continue to read and review!
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> ____________________
> 
> Thanks to TheUndyingLands for the awesome Banner/Cover Art


	2. Chapter 2: The Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin receives an unexpected guest into his workshop

What Thorin had expected, he was not quite sure. However, he knew that it was not having the young woman suddenly step back out through his doorway as he approached and empty her stomach into the churned mud outside his workshop. His insides twisted in displeasure and he quickened his pace to the other side of his workshop. She was just straightening out when he poked his head out of his door.

He watched as she wiped at the corners of her mouth with the ends of her drenched sleeves. Her face was pale and bloodless and Thorin wondered where she had come from. "Are you still coming in?" he asked her. When she wordlessly nodded he motioned her into his leaking workshop and went to pull to of the chairs from the corner of the room closer to the fire.

"Here," he grunted as he positioned on of the chairs as close to the fires of the forge as he could without it catching on fire itself. "Warm yourself."

"Thank you," she murmured and she dropped herself into the chair, her entire body sagging into it with relief. He watched as her eyes surveyed her surroundings. She took in the tools and workbenches, and the small living space tiredly until finally her eyes landed back on the fire. She herself was something of an oddity. She was dressed in a manner that Thorin had never encountered within the men-folk before. She wore long dark robes of a forest green over black pants and a white blouse, all made of fabric that would have rivaled the soft texture of that made by the elves. He wondered if she were from lands far to the east where he had never traveled before. There was a rather ominous crash of thunder from outside and they both startled and looked out the door.

As the sound faded Thorin spoke, "What were you doing outside in this weather?"

The woman looked up at him, startled out of whatever thoughts had occupied her mind. Her mouth opened up as if to speak before she quickly closed it again. Her cheeks seemed to flush slightly and she looked back out the door from where she had come. "Do you know where we are?" she asked, avoiding his question.

Thorin frowned at this. While there certainly was not as much danger as there could be during an ongoing war, the roads were not safe for a woman to travel alone. "Piralith,” Thorin said simply. "Are you feeling better?" he asked cautiously as he examined her pale face and then looked back out towards the doorway.

The woman nodded, seeming somewhat distracted. "Better than I was before. I am not familiar with Piralith. Where is it?" she asked as she looked up into his face.

"We are north of the Shire and far west from the forest of Mirkwood, but still some leagues from the Blue Mountains. Does this help orient you?" Thorin replied stiffly, still somewhat puzzled that this woman had little inkling of where she was.

He watched as the woman brought a tired hand to her forehead and moved to rub away a headache. "Not much," she sighed. "You will have to forgive me. I do not clearly remember how I got here, and I am afraid that I am many miles from home. When I came around, yours was the first shelter I saw from the rain." If possible, Thorin's frown deepened even more. Soundlessly he stood from the table and moved to the doorway, peering out into the rain.

"Were you traveling with anyone?" He asked, trying to see if there were any clues to how she had come to be left out in the rain.

Her voice floated softly back to him. "No." Well, at least he knew there would be no other companions that he would need to venture out to look for, but then how had she managed to unknowingly come to be outside of his workshop. There were other houses she would have been able to seek shelter in towards the outskirts of the town. He turned to look back at her. Maybe she had been kidnapped and her captures had knocked her out before dumping her body once they had no more use of her? It would explain her weak stomach, but why would a captor abandon her here? Thorin sighed internally to himself. He could feel a headache coming on.

Striding back towards the fire, he sat in the chair opposite of hers. She was still dripping water onto the floor and if he looked closely he could see that her arms were trembling slightly. "Unfortunately, I only have some long undershirts that I can offer you as dry clothing for now. I know it is not a proper garment for a lady such as yourself, but it would be better than sitting in your own wet clothing. I will leave it up to you as to whether or not you would like to change," he said bluntly as he watched her ringing some of the water from her hair.

The woman nodded, her hands falling from her wet curls. "I would appreciate it," she said as she looked up with him with her dark honey colored eyes. Thorin found himself nodding stiffly and turning quickly away towards the back corner of the workshop where he kept most of his personal belongings. Rummaging through a stack of clothing he quickly pulled out his cleanest undershirt and made his way back to the fire. While he was gone the woman had discarded her outer robes and was now standing with it, looking unsure as to where to put it.

"Here," he said as he pushed the undershirt into her hands and took the soaked garment. He stepped back and examined the woman quickly. She was shorter than he had initially thought, as he had to look down just ever so slightly to look into her face. The undershirt should cover her adequately then, he thought to himself with a small self-satisfied nod. Turning away quickly as to not be accused for staring at her in an inappropriate fashion, he began to walk back towards the entrance of his workshop.

"I will be here while you change," he said over his shoulder as he leaned up again the doorframe and stared back out into the sheets of rain that were coming down. He could barely see across the road to his neighbors and the road itself had turned into a river of mud. His ears strained as he listened to the sounds of the wet clothing being peeled from the body of his unexpected guest. There was a rustle of cloth as his own undershirt was put on, and only a few moments later he heard her calling him back.

"I am done. Thank you," she said, her soft voice partially drowned out by the sound of the rain on the roof. He turned around and nodded back to her, carefully keeping his gaze from lingering on her too long. The nightshirt was indeed long enough to cover all of her womanly bits, but it stopped at her mid-thigh and left a tantalizing view of her legs available to him. Shaking his head clear, Thorin walked back to where she stood with the remains of her wet clothing in her hands. He looked back down at his own hands and realized he was still holding onto her outer garment.

"We will need to hang these to dry," he said decisively. Looking around the benches of his workshop, he quickly found a ball of twine he kept on hand, and strung it between two nails he had already sunk into the walls of his workshop for this very purpose. The twine created a line near the fire and Thorin quickly maneuvered the wet clothing over the line so that it hung near the fire. It blocked quite a bit of the light, and cast long shadows about the room, but at least her clothing would begin to dry.

Sitting back down in his own chair, he found himself staring back at his companion once more. "Are you feeling better after," he paused and trailed off as he motioned his head back towards his open doorway.

He watched as a faint blush seemed to creep onto the woman's pale face. "Yes, much. I am sorry about that," she replied meekly. Thorin could not help but feel slightly relieved at that. There would be no sick guest in his workshop. "Thank you again for letting me in and helping me," she said then, her pale lips pulling into a small smile.

Thorin just nodded at that, unsure as to what to say. He couldn’t have just left her to catch a cold in the rain, despite not being very overly fond of men-folk.

"My name is Hermione," she said as she reached out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Throin Oakenshield, at your service," he replied as he took her hand and shook it, feeling that this was to be the beginnings of a very peculiar encounter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this second chapter. This is still without a beta. If anyone is interested in helping with beta-ing, please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin contemplates the next stage of his journey, and determines a way to get Hermione out of his workshop.

 

Thorin found himself waking to the silence of daybreak as the rain finally let up in the middle of the night.He stretched from the chair he was dozing in and glanced down at his guest. Late last night they had finally settled around the fire, and he had easily seen that the young woman before him was physically and emotionally drained. Despite her protest, which had been feeble at best, he had dragged his bedroll closer to the fire and insisted that she get some rest in said bed. With some half-hearted attempts to insist that she could not take his bedroll, she had made herself comfortable and fallen into a fitful sleep.

Thorin himself had found his pipe and had smoked well into the night before he finally had nodded off while staring deep into the fire. During this time his mind had wandered between various topics most of those were about the young women who was now sharing his shelter and others roamed towards his impending trip home at the Blue Mountains.

He had decided that he would see Hermione to the small inn that was here in town. The owner, a stout woman by the name of Ilirra, ran the inn and she would be far better equipped to deal with a lost traveler.  Hopefully, Ilirra would be able to give some sound advice to Hermione about traveling on her own and help her determine whether she would stay in town or travel on to a larger town.

He, himself would be finishing up the last of the small odd jobs that he had lined up and then thank the townspeople for allowing him to make use of their workshop and continue to travel to the next nearest town to the west. He would of course see if they had any work for a blacksmith, but he knew as he got closer to home, the fewer jobs there would be for him as many of his kinsmen frequented the villages that were closer to the mountains.

Nodding to himself, satisfied with his decision, he stood up from the chair and stretched, releasing the tension that had been growing in his shoulders and spine from sleeping upright. Careful not to wake the woman sleeping near his feet, he softly trend towards the small table that sat at the front of the workshop under the one window that led into the building. On it was a small list of jobs that he had accepted recently that still needed completing. It was appallingly short, repairs to a door latch at the pub (presumably some of the patrons had been a little rough on it), a new plow for a local farmer, and some new horseshoes for a local resident. Thorin sighed to himself. It was well and truly deplorable.

He set the list down and moved to his doorway, surveying the damages that the rain had brought. It was bad but not as bad as he originally thought. In the dim morning light he could see that all of the buildings had weathered the storm with little to no apparent damage. The streets were still a mess though due to soft soil and mud, but the road running through town no longer resembled a river.  

Thorin glanced to the east and judged that it would be at least another hour before it would be early enough to visit the pub to inspect the door latch. Looking back at his sleeping companion to see if she was still asleep, he began to quietly move around his workshop, gather the tools he would later need to make sure he was able to properly fix the pub’s latch.

* * *

 

It was a good hour later when he noticed that Hermione was stirring from her slumbers. He set aside his pack that he had been going over, making sure that he would have everything necessary for the next leg of his journey.  Taking the wrapped bread and cheese from the table where he had left it yesterday, Thorin walked over towards the forge and set the food on a small bench that stood in the middle of the room as his guest sat up from his bedroll.

He watched as she blinked and looked around. “Where…,” he heard her begin, before he eyes landed on him. Her eyes seemed to become more alert as she recognized him. “Good Morning,” she said, as she brought a hand up to try and tame her mussed hair.

“Good Morning,” Thorin replied politely as he watched her stifle a yawn. “How are you feeling?”

She paused for a moment before responding, “Better. The headache is gone, and my stomach is not queasy.”

“Good. I am going out for a bit, but should be back shortly. There is a rain barrel on the west side of the workshop which you can use to freshen up with. Your clothes should be dry as well. I left some food on the bench,” he said as he pointed to where he had just deposited the bread and cheese. “When I get back I will take you to the inn. There they should be able to help determine what you should do from here and out.” Satisfied that he had adequately explained the situation he picked up the small satchel with his tools and slung it over his shoulder.

“You will be back soon?” She asked as she untangled herself from the bedroll, and looked at him with a spark of curiosity that had not been there the night before.

Thorin nodded. “No more than an hour,” he replied with a nod. “Until then.” He gave a small bow of his head to her, turned on his heels and walked out the door, leaving her and her scantily clad legs to herself.

* * *

 

The task at the pub was no more difficult than he expected it would be. He would need to craft a new mechanism in order to properly fix the latch, but it would not take him long to complete. He let the pub owner know that he would be back in the afternoon to finish the job, and he packed up his tools. True to his word he had not been gone long, and when he re-entered his workshop he found himself slightly surprised. Everything looked just a touch more organized, or maybe just clean? He glanced to his left and found Hermione sitting at the table under the window fiddling with the list of jobs he had yet to do.

She glanced up at him with a welcoming smile. “Hello,” she said simply.

“Hello,” he replied.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took some liberties and just tidied up a bit while you were out.” Indeed she had. The bedroll was back away from the forge, the twine was rewound, and the tools that had been laying haphazardly on the bench next the forge had been straightened. The other chair had been pushed neatly under the back table, and the contents of his desk looked to be more in order as well. He looked back down at her hands, and his list. Had she been snooping?

With a frown marring his brow he held out his hand for the small scrap of parchment. At first she did not seem to realize what he was gesturing for, but then a sheepish smile came over her face and she handed it to him. “Sorry,” She said, ducking her head slightly, a light blush rising on her cheeks. “I was just curious. I have never seen script like that before.”

He glanced down at the note that was now in his hand. Never seen Khuzdul? He glanced back up at her. She did truly seem puzzled by the note itself, and her face was open and innocent. This woman just seemed to add mystery upon mystery. “It is the written form of my people’s language,” Thorin replied simply, keeping his voice neutral as he tucked the note into the breast pocket of his coat. “I am surprised that you have never seen it before.”

At this statement the woman seemed to almost close off completely. While before she had been open, her upturned lips fell and she glanced back out the window. “Yes, well, as I said last night, I think I am very far from home.”

“And where is your home?” Thorin asked, his own curiosity piqued.

“England.”

“England,” Thorin replied as he test the name on his tongue. “I do not know of it. Is it in the realm of Rohan or Gondor? Or still further east of the realms of men?

A pained look seemed to flit across her face as she shook her head. “I do not know,” she answered, her voice strained.

Thorin stared at her, and regretted uttering those words. If there was one thing that he absolutely did not like, it was crying women. And this one seemed to be getting mightily close. Deciding it would be best if he changed his tactics, he cleared his throat and started anew. “While I am not as familiar with the land of men, perhaps the innkeeper will have more information than I.”

While this did in fact appear to eliminate the almost-crying expression from his guest’s face, it brought about one that was wrought with confusion. He could barely hear her, but he was almost certain that in a confused murmur she had repeated him. “…land of men…”  Her eyes seemed to clear a bit and she looked back up at him, the spark of curiosity that he had noticed earlier returned. “You keep on saying that,” she said, her voice clearer than it had been before, but still obviously confused. “’The land of men’ and ‘the realm of men.’ What do you mean by that?”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to look confused. He meant exactly what it sounded like. “I am only referring to lands of those that I assume are your people,” he replied slowly. “I doubt that you find your home in dwarvish or elvish territories.” If Thorin had not been paying careful attention to how his guest reacted to his words he would have missed how her eyes seemed to widen slightly and her jaw slacked as he mentioned the dwarvish and elvish territories.

Confused at what this reaction meant, Thorin decided that the sooner he was no longer hosting his current guest the sooner he would no longer have to worry about the mystery that now seemed to plague his mind. “Come, I think we should go pay a visit to the innkeeper.”

Hermione only nodded and stood up to follow him out into the small town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Sakuralilian for going through this for me. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_In which Thorin gains a new travel companion_

* * *

 

 

Thorin walked silently next to Hermione as they traversed up the muddy street away from his workshop. It was a short walk and they would soon be upon the inn. He turned to look at his companion’s profile. Her hair had been tied back with a tight black band and eyes were quickly cataloging everything in the town as though it were the most interesting thing she had seen in weeks. Glancing around, Thorin could not help but disagree. There was absolutely nothing interesting about the town. It was small and dirty, and had few redeeming qualities in his eyes.

 

As they grew nearer to the inn he spoke. “Ilirra is a good and kind woman,” he explained. “When I first arrived here I made use of her inn and she was more welcoming than I had anticipated anyone in the town would be. I expect that she will be able to help you as well.”

 

Hermione hummed and nodded her agreement as they continued to trudge along through the mud. They stopped in front of the Inn, and stood looking up at the building. It was one of the few buildings in the town that had a second story and abundance of windows. “Thank you for helping me this far,” Hermione said as she turned back towards him.

 

It was Thorin’s turn to nod at this. “Of course,” he replied steadily. “I hope that you will have better luck in your travels after this.”

 

A small laugh seemed to escape her. “Oh, I hope so to,” she said before pausing and glancing at the door. “Will you be coming in with me?” she asked.

 

“No,” Thorin said as he shook his head. While he liked Illirra just fine, her husband was an entirely different manner. He was a pig-headed and unfriendly sort, that Throin wished to avoid if he could. “You only need to explain to her that you have come to ill-fortune while traveling the roads by yourself. I am sure that is all that will be required to acquire her assistance.”

 

If possible the woman seemed to deflate a little bit and her shoulders slumped in a bit. “Oh, alright,” she replied, her tone a bit flatter than it had been moments before. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye for now then. I am sure I will see you around town.”

 

“That is unlikely,” Throin said with another shake of his head. “I am planning on leaving this town tomorrow.”

 

“Right,” Hermione said, a frown beginning to form, “well, then this really is a more definitive goodbye. Thank you so much for all of your help yesterday and today. I probably would have drowned in all of that rain yesterday.”

 

Thorin nodded in acceptance of the thanks. “I am glad that you did not drown,” he replied stoically, though he could feel his lips turning up slightly in amusement. “I wish you the best in all of your future travels. May Aulë guide and watch over your footsteps. Until our paths cross again, safe travels,” Thorin said with a small bow.  

 

“Safe travels,” Hermione murmured back with a slight bow of her head. Thorin noticed that the slightly confused look had returned to her face. Shaking his mind free of concern, he stood straight and said, “Goodbye, Hermione.” And with that, he turned on his heels and began walking back down the road from which they had come.

 

‘’Goodbye, Thorin!” he heard her say.

 

* * *

 

Thorin wondered, once he returned home if may he should have gone in to talk with Ilirra about the young woman. Who was he to cower and run away from an unpleasant man? He was the son of Thráin and wandering King of Erebor! But then again, since he was King did he really need to spend his time worrying over a woman of the men-folk? No.

 

Pushing the matter from his mind, he went back to the forge to continue working on the few remaining pieces of work necessary for the jobs he had accepted. He continued to work well into the afternoon and after collecting his meager pay from the grouchy pub owner, the farmer and the townsman for his work he continued to a small stall at the town’s center to purchase provisions for his journey. Satisfied that the hard cheeses, dried meat and bread would last him until he reached the next town, he walked purposefully back to his workshop to continue packing up the last of his personal belongings.

 

That evening, Thorin surveyed the progress he had made on his pack. Everything seemed to be in order except he had somehow managed to misplace his waterskin. How that had happened he had no idea. He had searched high a low throughout the workshop to no avail. It was missing and he would have to see about buying one off of the local merchants come morning. While he had been planning on leaving at first light, he would now have to wait until the merchants were up and manning the few shops and stalls in town.

 

Settling in for the night, Throin climbed into his bedroll, on of the few items that was still left out from his pack, and made himself comfortable. It would be a long trek tomorrow and he planned to be well rested. Pulling the bedroll tight up around his face, he could not help but notice that there was the pleasant scent of the woman who had used it last lingering in the furs.

 

* * *

 

 

While he had slept peacefully through the night, Throin was abruptly jolted out of his sleep by a soft knocking on his door. A blade was immediately in his hand as he pointed it in the general direction of the door, his eyes blinking away the sleep.

 

“Thorin?” a soft voice called to him.

 

Cursing under his breath at whoever was foolhardy enough to come knocking before the sun was properly into the sky, Throin untangled himself from the bedroll and in nothing but his breeches and undershirt, he approached the doorway. The very first light of dawn illuminated the figure that stood in his doorway. It was Hermione. ‘What was she doing here,’ he wondered to himself as he slowly lowered the small blade he kept beside his bedroll.

 

“Good Morning,” she said briskly. “I am sorry I woke you. I thought you would be up already.”

 

Thorin felt himself bristle a little bit at that. He had meant to be up by now, packing away his bedroll, and taking care of the last of his preparations before he made to leave. When he did not immediately reply she seemed to plow right on ahead.

 

“I would like to travel with you.”

 

“What?” Thorin found himself blurting out before he could stop himself.

 

“Ilirra made it quite clear to me that I would not find my way home staying with her, and she insisted that I not travel without a companion. As you are currently the only person that I know to be traveling, it became quite obvious that I should ask if I could impose on your kindness one again and ask if I could travel with you.”

 

“You do not even know where I am going,” Thorin protested, a small part of him a bit horrified at the very forward approach that this woman was taking.

 

He watched mystified as Hermione shook her head. “I imagine most anywhere will be an improvement from here. I will continue to ask for advice from those we meet as we travel together.”

 

‘As we travel together….’ Thorin thought to himself. ‘No, no, and no!’ She must have seen the way his face was darkening because she began speaking once again.

 

“Please, you know as well as I do that there is nothing for me here,” she pleaded, her voice beginning to take on the very first edge of panic. “Plus, who knows if the next traveler will be quite as kind and friendly as you are.” Thorin could feel himself jolt on the inside. He was not kind and friendly. He was a grouchy and brooding dwarf, and he knew it. “And we are already at least a bit familiar with each other, even if we have only known each other for such a short time. Surely this would be better than traveling with a complete stranger!”

 

Thorin could feel his lips pressing into a tight line as he took a moment to look her over. She did indeed look ready for traveling. Ilirra must have provided the gear as the woman had nothing on her when he had last seen her. Over her shoulders sat a thicker coat than what she had originally been wearing. A pack was strapped to her back, brimming with who knew what, and her hair had been done up into a rather fetching braid. Quite the unusual hairstyle for her kind based on what he had seen of most of the women men-folk.

 

He looked into her face and found pleading dark honey colored eyes staring back up into his. She had her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at him, and Thorin could feel his defenses begin to crack.

 

“Are you experienced at traveling,” he found himself asking, his voice coming through his clenched teeth.

 

“Some,” she replied easily.

 

Mahal save me, Thorin thought to himself.

 

“I will not be held responsible for your safety while we travel together,” he replied gruffly.

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

 

“And are you fully equipped for traveling?”

 

“Yes, Ilirra gave me everything that I would need.”

 

Thorin continued to stare at her, but she did not waver under his deep frown, which said something about her bravery. Even some of his most trusted friends would have had the grace to look away at this point.

 

“Fine,” he bit out, perhaps against his better judgment. “I have a few things to accomplish, and we leave as soon as I am done.”

 

“Thank you,” she said in earnest, a huge smile spreading across her face. “Thank you.”

 

Thorin just nodded his head stiffly at her, before moving to finish his preparations. His journey home had just become far more complicated that he had originally anticipated.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently not betaed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Huzzah! They have finally started their journey! Hope everyone is as pleased as I am about that!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin and Hermione travel together to the next town, and Thorin finds that Hermione really is not as well traveled as she insinuated.

It was a five day journey to the next town and over the course of their travels thus far Thorin  had learnt quite a bit about Hermione. For example, she was terrible at traveling. She could not start a fire with the flint he had provided to her. She could not hunt. She did not know which plants were edible and which were poisonous. When he had questioned her on the truth of her statement about having had some experience at traveling she had merely blushed and insisted that it had been different then.

 

He had also learned that she was an only child, liked to read, and was one of the most curious beings he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. She asked questions about everything. Some of them were simple. Where are we going? How long does it take to get to the Blue Mountains? Do you have any siblings? Others questions were not so simple. Can you teach me Khuzdul? Who is Mahal? What are orcs?

 

Simply put, it was driving him crazy.

 

She stopped asking questions when he would throw a fearsome glare over his shoulder at her and they would walk in silence for a few hours, and then it would just start back up again. Truly, she was insatiable. His answers were always as brief as possible, but it did not seem to dissuade her. If anything it seemed to encourage her.

 

On the third day of their travels he had decided to try the silent treatment. When her fifth question had gone unanswered, she had taken to humming some ridiculous tune as they walked. It was not much better than the questions.

 

Despite the incessant chattering, the traveling itself was going fairly smoothly, almost too smoothly based on all of Thorin’s previous experiences. For one, it had rained again on the day they had set out. This in itself was not good, but by the end of the day he was staring at his boots in incredulity. When had they become so water resistant! And his cloak was also bone dry on the inside. He had spent more than a few minutes that night examining his boots, before Hermione had given him an odd look and had asked what he was doing.

 

In addition to the mystery of his miraculously  water-resistant boots and cloak, he also had yet to wake up cold, despite the appearance of a fine dusting of frost on the grass around him on the third morning of their journey. He had again given his bedroll a mystified look. While he had never been uncomfortably cold before, he had never before felt so pleasingly warm on a morning with frost on the ground around him. While the source to these small my mysteries eluded him, he was pleased with the comfort they provided to him and had decided not to spend too much time pondering them as they continued their travels.

 

Since leaving town, most of their meals consisted of the dry pack food that they had purchased, but it was on the eve of their fourth night that Thorin was lucky enough to have killed a rabbit with a small slingshot he kept in has pack. Happy that it would not be dried meats, berries and bread for dinner this evening, he led Hermione to a small clearing under some pine trees and dropped his pack. "We will stop here for tonight. If you can begin to prepare the rabbit I will go gather some wood for the fire," he said as he held out the dead rabbit to her.

 

She did not take it.

 

"How about I go collect that firewood?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly strained as she stared at the animal in Thorin's hands.

 

Thorin found himself giving her a hard look, looking back down at the rabbit, and then back up at her. "You are of noble birth, aren't you?"

 

"No!" she exclaimed, and Thorin could see that there was an incredulous look in her eyes. "I am most definitely not of noble birth, I have just never..." she trailed off as she gestured at the rabbit. "You know."

 

Thorin continued to stare at her. Never skinned a rabbit before? Dis was a princess and even she knew how to skin a rabbit. He supposed that in large cities one might not have to know how to skin an animal, but Thorin still found it hard to believe that she had no knowledge of how to do it.

 

"Fine," he said in exasperation. "You go collect the wood. I’ll get started on the rabbit."

 

Hermione only nodded and hummed her agreement as she pulled off her pack and set it down next to Thorin's. Left alone to his task, Thorin made quick work of skinning and cleaning the rabbit before setting up a simple spit on which they could roast it. He worked on clearing the fallen pine needles from the earth where they would build the fire, and soon enough Hermione was back beside him, a bundle of wood in her arms.

 

As she unloaded the wood from her arms he could catch glimpses of the holster's that wrapped around her arms under the wide sleeves of her coat and shirt. He had noticed them before, but had not commented on them before. Tonight was different.

 

"I have been meaning to ask you the condition of your blades," Thorin said as he began setting up a small mound of twigs and branches. "If you would like I could take a look at them and make sure they are well sharpened."

 

"Oh, I just have the one, but yes. Thank you," she replied as she reached into her her right sleeve and withdrew a small dagger about eight inches in length. Thorin watched as she held it nervously in her hand. With a shake of his head, he turned his attention quickly back to the twigs, and struck a spark to them. The dried twigs quickly took to flame, and Thorin sat back as the fire began to lick its way onto some of the larger branches.

 

"Hand it here then," he said as he extended his hand for the dagger. "You turn the rabbit."

 

"Alright, that I can do," she said with a blush as she handed over the bland, and then settled herself down next to Thorin and took hold of the end of the spit.

 

"It is a decent enough blade," Thorin remarked as he held it lightly in his palm. "Well enough done for being crafted by men. Do you know how to use it properly?"

 

"Stick the pointy end in the bad guy?" Hermione said sheepishly as she gave the rabbit a turn.

 

Thorin could not help but let out a low sigh. "At the very basics, yes." He pulled his pack towards him and pulled out his whetstone. Methodically running the blade along the stone, Thorin looked over at his companion. "You have two holster's strapped to your  arms. If you only have one blade, what is in the other? Or is it merely empty?"

 

He watched as a blush spread over the woman's cheeks and her right hand came up protectively over her left arm. "A memento," she said quietly.

 

Deciding not to pry any deeper Thorin nodded. Sitting in silence, they continued to work on their respective task, Thorin sharpening Hermione's blade while she continued to turn the rabbit until it was fully cooked. They ate in silence as well and after they were feed Thorin found himself breaking the silence once again. "I am surprised that you ever managed to do any traveling before this. Wandering the wilds is a difficult business to be doing, even when not on your own," he said slowly as he looked into the fire. "I imagine that sooner or later, you will find which way you want to go in order to get home and we will no longer be traveling together. I would, however, recommend that you do not try traveling on your own.”

 

He glanced over at her, and noticed that her eyes had gone slightly wide at his comments about her overall survival skills.

 

“Would you teach me? Those skills need for traveling?” she asked, and Thorin could feel himself stiffen only briefly at the request, before he allowed his mind to give it some serious consideration. While he had found that her incessant chatter did sometimes become a bit much, he had not minded having a traveling companion these past few days, and teaching her how to survive in the wilds would not be an unmanageable task in itself.

 

“Yes,” he said succinctly. “I think I can teach you.”

 

His words were rewarded with a brilliant smile. “Thank you,” she said, the sincerity obvious in her voice. Thorin could only nod his head before he reached into this pocket and pulled out his flint and steel in order to show Hermione how to properly use the tool she had fumbled with the first day of their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .(,-_-). So I meant to make this longer, and get further in the plot. But then Thorin was like. ‘Nope. I am sitting down right here and we are not going anywhere.’ 
> 
> Next time I promise there will be more plot development, and we will actually get to see some magic and meet up with at least one other dwarf! (guesses anyone?) And the chapter after that, I promise there will be a Hermione POV chapter. Really!
> 
> This is currently un-betaed. All mistakes are mine.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin grumbled to himself as he left the house of the self-proclaimed mayor of the village. They had arrived in the town late that morning, and the first thing that Thorin had done was seek out the leader of the town in order to determine if there might be somewhere he could stay for a short time while working. Much to his disappointment though, he found that there was no forge in the town. The man he had just visited with doubted that there would be much work of any kind for Thorin to find here as they had just been visited within the past month by a different blacksmith from the Blue Mountains.

 

It was bad luck, and Thorin could not help but feel frustrated as he looked about the small town. If anything, it was smaller than the last he had been in, and he doubted that Hermione was having much more luck than he was.

 

He shifted his pack on his shoulders and began walking to the west side of the town where they had agreed to meet at noon in order to share what they had learned. From there they would determine if they were both going to be continuing traveling together. He dropped his pack beneath the tall oak that he had pointed out to Hermione before they had parted ways, and prepared himself to wait.

 

Settling himself down among the roots, his back pressed up against the trunk, he watched as the people of the town went about their business. As he waited his mind drifted back to his traveling companion. Last night had been moderately successful in teaching the woman how to do some of the very basic survival tasks that she had been lacking in. She could now start a fire with a flint after a few tries and knew more about the tell-tale signs of there being water nearby.

 

While Thorin still found himself mystified as to how his traveling companion did not already know these things, he had found it surprisingly relaxing to talk to her about how to survive on the road. So much so, that he thought that he might find himself slightly disappointed if she did not decide to continue to travel west with him.

 

Thorin shook his head at this thought. It would do him no good to find himself enamoured with a woman of the men-folk. He needed to keep focused on what truly mattered, his family and his people. With a small sigh, Thorin pulled his pipe out of his pack, lit it and began to smoke.

 

It was not until well after he had finished, that he noticed Hermione walking down the road towards him, and his eyes widened at the sight. She was not alone, and the dwarf beside her was not one he had expected to encounter on the road.

 

As they grew closer, Hermione speed up and pulled ahead of her companion, reaching Thorin first.

 

“Thorin, I met this man at the inn. He said he knew you, and insisted that I bring him to you.”

 

Her nervous words washed over him, but he had only eyes for the dwarf that she had brought with her, and he could not help but let a smile of surprised joy creep onto his face.

 

“Dwalin,” Thorin said, unable to keep the happy tone of surprise out of his voice as he walked forward and drew his lifelong friend into a hug. “It is good to see you.”

 

“And you as well, Thorin,” Dwalin replied, his deep voice rumbling with pleasure. “When the lass told the innkeeper’s wife that she was traveling with a blacksmith, I had to check and see if it might be you.”

 

Thorin glanced over at Hermione, to see her nod in confirmation.

 

“A lucky encounter then,” he said as he clapped a hand onto Dwalin’s shoulder, and looked back at his friend. “You are looking well, my friend. It has been too long since I last saw you.”

 

“And you as well, my king,” Dwalin intoned with a nod.

 

“King?” It was barely more than a squeak, but Thorin heard it and turned back towards Hermione.

 

“I take it that she does not know who you are.” he heard Dwalin say, and he found himself nodding.

 

“No, she doesn't,” Thorin agreed. “Dwalin, this is my current traveling companion, Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Dwalin son of Fundin. He has been a friend of mine since childhood.”

 

“And you are a king?” Hermione asked, a note of scepticism present within her voice.

 

“Aye, he is the wandering King of Erebor, and would be sitting on the throne if it were not for the dragon Smaug,” Dwalin said, before Thorin could explain himself. If her finding out that he was a king had shocked her, the way her head snapped back to Dwalin at the mention of a dragon was something that Thorin could not help but notice.

 

“And I suppose you keep company with wizards and witches, and celebrate the Yule and Beltane?” she said as she wrung her hands nervously in front of her.

 

Thorin noticed Dwalin giving him a curious look before he let out a small sigh, “Tharkûn, or Gandalf as he might be known to you, is the only wizard I have ever had any significant dealings with, and of course we celebrate the Yule and Beltane. I apologize for not telling you of my title, but I did not think it was something that you would need to know.”

 

He watched as the woman seemed to deflate before him. Her back, which had been straight and stiff, seemed to collapse as she let her shoulders sag.

 

“Apology accepted,” she said her voice having lost its nervous quality.

 

Thorin nodded his head in acknowledgment, before returning his attention to Dwalin. “I mean to travel west from here, back towards Ered Luin. Which way do you intend to travel?”

 

“I was coming from the north, traveling south to see if I might find any mercenary work, but I would gladly travel with you to Ered Luin. It has been too long since I have seen Balin.”

 

“And you,” Thorin asked Hermione. “Did you find any leads with any of the townspeople?”

 

“No, but this Gandalf, I think maybe I would like to try and find him,” she replied, her voice uncertain as she looked at him.

 

Thorin felt his brow rise in surprise at this. “Gandalf? What do you think the wizard could do for you?”

 

With a deep breath she replied, “It was magic that brought me to being outside of your workshop the other night. I know it. If Gandalf really is a wizard, like you say he is, maybe he can help me find my way home?”

 

If anything, that had not been what Thorin had been expecting her to say. She hadn’t mentioned any suspicion of magic before this.

 

“What is going on?” Dwalin rumbled a frown forming on his face.

 

“Hermione sought shelter in my workshop from the storms that passed through six days ago. She had no recollection of how she came to be in the town, and after some discussion determined that she is many leagues from home,” Thorin said as way of explanation, before turning back to look at Hermione. “She never mentioned anything about magic, though.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how receptive you would be to the idea,” she said defensively. “And, you never said anything about being a king.”

 

Thorin found himself frowning at this, “I already told you that I apol..,” he began.

 

“I know,” she said hastily, holding her hand up in defense. “I just need to know if you know where I can find the wizard.”

 

“I do not.” Thorin replied succinctly, however in his mind he tumbled over all that he knew of the wizard. He was always traveling places, but there was one place he frequently mentioned. The shire. He mentioned that he enjoyed visiting the small-folk for their Beltane festival.

 

“Lass, he travels far and wide. He is a difficult wizard to find,” Dwalin was saying as Thorin thought of what time of year it was. It was still early and there were a few weeks until Beltane be upon them.

 

“The shire,” he said decisively. “The best place to look for him at this time of year would be the shire.”

 

“And where is that?” Hermione asked, and Thorin could see a hopefully look on her face that he had never seen before. It made her look younger, he thought to himself.

 

“It is to the south west,”  Dwalin supplied, pointing in its general direction.

 

“We will pass close to it on our journey to the Blue Mountains,” Thorin added.

 

“Well then, I would most certainly like to continue to travel with you. If you will have me, that is,” Hermione replied a hopeful smile growing across her face.

 

“Of course,” Thorin said with a nod of his head. “Dwalin, are you ready to travel, or do you need time to gather supplies.”

 

“I can be ready within the hour,” Dwalin replied confidently.

 

“Very well, we continue to head west as soon as you are ready.”

 

* * *

 

 

Traveling with Dwalin was reminiscent of years past, before they had finally settled in the Blue Mountains. The two of them were content to walk in silence, and Dwalin’s presence seemed to have quieted Hermione. Thorin suspected that was mostly because of Dwalin’s rather intimidating appearance.

 

They traveled until nightfall, and Thorin tasked Hermione with building a fire while he and Dwalin went in search of food they might be able to scavenge from the local fauna and flora. It was only once they were out of earshot that Dwalin broke the comfortable silence.

 

“Why are you traveling with that woman,” he asked bluntly as they eyed the surrounding landscape.

 

It took Thorin more than a moment to reply. It was convenient for the woman, but not necessarily for him. It was the right thing to do, help a fellow wanderer, and it had grown strangely comfortable after the past few days.

 

Thorin finally settled on one reason. “Because she needed help.”

 

Dwalin grunted in obvious displeasure. “I don’t trust her.”

 

Thorin could not help but roll his eyes a bit at that. “And what do you think she is going to do that is so untrustworthy.”

 

“She could be anything. A thief, a spy, an assassin,” Dwalin replied gruffly. “You say she just happened to wander into your workshop in the middle of a storm. It seems mighty convenient that she happened to wander upon you like that.”

 

Thorin paused as he thought about that. There had been some assassination attempts in the past. Obviously none of them had succeeded as he was still alive, but he did have a rather nasty scar along his side where a would be assassin had gotten close enough to stab him.

 

“She is harmless,” Thorin said with a shake of her head. “Her dagger wasn’t even sharp enough to break skin.”

 

“Wasn’t?” Dwalin asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at his friend.

 

“I sharpened it for her,” Thorin replied quickly.

 

“Of course you did,” Dwalin scoffed.

 

“So you think she is just waiting to slit my throat in the night? She has had plenty of chances.”

 

“Or she is just waiting until she gets whatever information she needs out of you,” Dwalin suggested.

 

Thorin just frowned grumpily at this. Hermione did ask a lot of questions. Maybe it was to throw him off guard so he would answer something that he would have originally not intended to share.

 

“You watch her the next few days and tell me what you think,” Thorin conceded grumpily. “I still think she is mostly harmless.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark when they returned to the campsite, and a small cheerful fire greeted them. While they were away Hermione had worked on laying out the bedrolls around the small blaze. She looked up at Thorin and Dwalin as they approached and Thorin could not help but give a small proud smile to her as he took in the warmth of the fire.

 

They set the few small tubers they had found by the fire and put the small pot they had onto the fire in order to make a stew.

 

While Dwalin cut the tubers into smaller pieces, Thorin worked on drawing Hermione into conversation.

 

“You have asked me many questions about the land we are traveling through, but I have been remiss in not asking you about your own. What is your homeland like?”

 

The question seemed to surprise her, and she seemed to search his face, for what he did not know, but finally she spoke. “It is different than here,” she answered, a far away look passing across her face. “Your lands seem to be mostly untamed, but where I am from, it is rare to see such open wilderness. The towns are all close together and there are cities large enough to hold hundreds of the towns that we have passed through.”

 

“It sounds like a crowded and unpleasant place,” Dwalin said, as he plopped the tubers into the simmering pot.

 

“It isn’t so bad,” Hermione supplied. “Just different, and more advance than anything that I have seen here so far.”

 

“You should have seen Erebor when it was at its peak,” Thorin responded. “It was the shining jewel of everything that my people have ever accomplished, and outshined the cities of men and elves in every way.”

 

Hermione only gave him a sad smile. “I am sure it was wonderful,” she said softly, as she stared into the fire. They drifted into silence once more, and Thorin found himself examining her from across the fire. It might have been a trick of the light, but Thorin thought he might have seen tears developing in her eyes.

“I am sure you will see it again one day,” he said softly.

 

Her head jerked quickly to look at him, and a small watery smile graced her face. “Thank you,” she murmured, before quickly wiping her hand across her eyes. “I think I am going to turn in for the night. Good Night, Thorin, Dwalin.”

 

Dwalin only grunted in reply, but Thorin nodded to her. “Good night, Hermione.”

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, at Dwalin’s insistence that they set up watches, Thorin found himself the only one of the three awake, his pipe smoldering in his hand. The land around them was quiet, except for the soft chirp of an occasional cricket.

 

He was dozing when he noticed that Hermione was not sleeping peacefully and that she was beginning to toss and turn in her sleep.

 

And then, she was suddenly sitting upright, her arms wrapped around her middle as though she were in pain. Her eyes snapped open, and their gazes connected.

 

“Thorin…” she gasped out.

 

There was a flash of light from where she had been sitting.

 

And then she was gone.

 

Thorin blinked.

 

“What in Mahal’s name just happened…” he whispered to himself. Her bedroll was empty, and there was no sign as to what had just occurred.

 

He glanced over at where Dwalin’s bedroll was, and found that his friend was awake.

 

“Did you just see that?” Thorin asked, his voice uncertain.

 

“Aye,” Dwalin said, just as mystified as Thorin. “She just disappeared.”

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duh! Oh no, Hermione! You disappeared again! 
> 
> So, you have all been waiting to hear more about Hermione’s side of the story and a bit more about the curse. The next chapter will be all Hermione. But do not fear, she will be back with our lovely Thorin before too long!
> 
> Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I feel like this might make or break it for some people. Please give it a chance and read to the end of the chapter?

There was pain, and light with no air.

There was an unrelenting pressure surrounding her.

And then it was gone in an instant.

"Hermione?"

Harry? Was that Harry?

She could feel herself collapse, her legs giving out from under her. Her eyes blinked open. It was dark. There was someone looming over her.

"I think she's in shock, mate."

"You think she is..." the voice trailed off. "I am in shock."

It was the voices of her friends. She allowed the darkness to encompass her, and she knew no more.

* * *

When she woke up, she was in bed. It wasn't just any bed. It was her bed. Her bed at Grimmauld. Her brows furrowed in confusion. But how?

Slowly she thought back to what had happened before. Thorin, and the other man, (or dwarf? her mind supplied), had been talking in whispered voices, and then they had slept, Thoring on watch. She had been sleeping before being woken by a pounding in her head. And then everything had suddenly changed. The spell that had originally brought her there had flared to life, and now she was here. Had Ron and Harry found her? She seemed to remember that they might have. It would explain her current position.

She looked around the room. It looked mostly the same as it had when she had been there last week, although it looked like some of her things had shifted slightly. It seemed cleaner and the chair that was normally at her desk had been left by the bedside.

She was still taking in the room, when the door was softly pushed open. Her eyes snapped over to the door, and a familiar red-head appeared.

"Ginny," she said, though it came out more as a rasp, her throat dry.

Despite this, she was rewarded with a vibrant smile as the young woman sat down the tray of food on the bedside table and quickly enveloped Hermione in a tight hug. "Hermione." She didn't know if she had ever heard her name said with so much hope and joy. "We thought we had lost you forever."

Hermione could not help but feel tears forming in her own eyes. "I'm back though. Really back," she said, her own voice giving her confidence. She was back. Back home. Thank Merlin.

Ginny pulled back, and Hermione was able to get a better look at her friend. She seemed somehow different, but Hermione could not for the life of her put her finger on what it was.

"Yes, you are," she said, a smile still gracing her lips. "Are you hungry? I brought up some cereal and fruit, for when you woke up."

"Yes," Hermione began, before a thought struck her. "Ginny, it was Dolohov that attacked me. He's the one! You guys need to warn the Auroras that he could still be here in London somewhere."

Hermione had been expecting easy acceptance from her friend, not a sad and pained look. Ginny's hand reached out to take hers. "We know," Ginny said softly. "We caught him about a year and a half ago."

"A year and a half ago, but I have only been gone for a week!" She exclaimed, her hand tightening around Ginny's.

"It has been two years since you disappeared, Hermione."

Hermione could feel herself going lightheaded as she continued to stare at her friend. That was what was different. What she had not been able to put her finger on moments ago. Ginny looked older. Not by much, but enough that she looked ever so slightly different. Hermione looked down at their hands.

There was a ring on Ginny's finger.

Ginny must have noticed her looking at it. "We got married about six months ago."

"Ginny," Hermione moaned. "What happened to me?"

"We don't fully understand it," Ginny replied her voice choked. "By Merlin, Hermione, we have all been so frightened for you." There was a pause and Ginny's hand tightened around her own again. "Look, Harry and Ron had to go into work. They didn't want to draw any suspicion. The media will have a big enough of a field day when they realize that you're back. They will be back later this afternoon. We'll all talk then."

"But do you know anything, Ginny," Hermione asked desperately. "What happened?"

"Some, but not enough. Harry and Ron have a better understanding of it. But let's not talk about it right now. You need to eat. Harry and Ron said you were all but unconscious when you appeared."

Hermione sat there, still as stone as she watched Ginny pour a small glass of milk into the bowl of cereal. Of all of the things that had happened to her thus far, this seemed to be, by far, the most unreal. Two years. It was too much. She could deal with dwarves, and faraway lands, and even dragons. But to have missed two years of time with her friends, her family. It was too much.

Ginny looked up, and offered her a weak smile before pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. "Please don't cry," she said, as she began to wipe away the tears Hermione had not quite realized had begun to run down her cheeks.

"I missed your wedding, Ginny."

"It's okay," Ginny replied soothingly, her hand running softly through Hermione's hair. "It wasn't your fault."

"But I missed it," Hermione said again, her voice cracking and her vision blurring because of the tears.

"Shhh. Wait right here," Ginny said softly as she stood up and placed a light comforting kiss to Hermione's temple. "I will be right back."

Hermione watched as Ginny left the room, and she brought her hand up, fiercely brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks.

Her mind was tumbling through everything that this meant. Her friends and her family. She had missed so much time with them. Things had changed, and she had no idea what this new reality held in store for her. Despite having brushed away the tears, she could not help it as more slowly continued to leak from her eyes.

Even when things had seemed their worst while fighting in the war against Voldemort, she had always had her friends at her side, fighting the same fight. Now she was alone in this. They did not all share the same fate anymore. Things were different.

When she had been younger, and had been using the time turner to fulfill her lust for academics, she had briefly pondered upon whether gaining close to six months in age would really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. Of course it had not; she still saw her friends, classmates and teachers every day. Now, however, things were running backwards.

She had missed two years, and had not seen any of her friends. Her stomach twisted in knots as she thought of all of the things she had missed. Birthdays, weddings, parties and gatherings. Important moments in her friend's lives that she had missed and would never be able to fully reclaim.

She was wiping at her cheeks again when Ginny returned.

"Here, budge over," her friend said as she clamored up onto the bed next to her. In her hands, Ginny held a book. A photo album to be precise. "I know it is not the same thing," Ginny explained as she shifted a bit to get comfortable, "but I can at least showthe pictures to you."

Hermione found herself quickly throwing her arms around Ginny. "Oh, Ginny," she sobbed.

Ginny was rubbing small circles in her back, and slowly, Hermione found that she was beginning to breathe a bit easier.

"It will be alright," Ginny whispered in her ear, before taking Hermione's shoulders and sitting her up so she could look into her eyes. "We are all going to make this better."

Hermione found herself nodding at Ginny's calming words, and then looked back down at the album that had been awkwardly crushed between them. "Will you show me the pictures?" Hermione asked with a sniff.

"Of course."

* * *

Hermione had fallen back asleep after Ginny had finished showing her the photo album, and judging by the light that was falling through her window, it was now close to dusk. Ginny wasn't there anymore, and was presumably somewhere else in the house. She felt calmer than she had before, but the tight knot of barely controlled panic that had settled into her stomach had not left her.

Pushing her blankets off, Hermione slowly made her way out of bed, wincing slightly as her feet touched the cool hardwood floor. She had not noticed before, but she was wearing her own pajamas. Fingering the soft waistband of the flannel pants, Hermione could not help but frown a bit at them. They seemed somehow out of place after her misadventures with Thorin.

Shaking her head of the thought, she brushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face and went in search of Ginny.

The house was much the same as it had been beforehand. The paintings that they had determined were harmless enough were still hanging from the hooks, just as they had beforehand. There were some new things here and there though. A picture of Ginny and Harry here, a new knick-knack there. It was disconcerting to notice the small changes.

She made her way down the stairs and could hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen. Reminiscent of the days when the Order of the Phoenix had occupied the house, Hermione found herself softly stepping up the closed door and listening to what was being said.

"...tell her eventually."

It was Ron's voice, and Hermione could not help but smile a bit, and she almost opened the door before she heard Harry.

"I just don't think we should tell her quite yet. Especially if she was as shocked as Ginny says she was."

"But she has the right to know, Harry!" Ginny said, her voice getting slightly shrill. Maybe they had been discussing this for a while. "It is her life. It is going to affect her."

"You don't think I don't know that?"

"You can't keep it from her forever, Mate."

"I just don't think she has to know today, or even tomorrow! Let her get used to the idea that she has missed two years," Harry explained.

Hermione found herself pushing open the door then. Whatever it was that they were discussing, it was about her. Silence meet her as her eyes adjusted quickly to the slightly brighter room. Harry was standing in the middle of the room, his gaze locked on her. Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table, while Ron was leaning up against the counter.

Everyone stood still.

And just as suddenly as everything had stopped moving, there was a flurry of motion. Hermione found herself caught up in the arms of both Harry and Ron as they hugged her.

There were no words offered, but Hermione could feel the tension fade further from her as she was embraced by her two oldest friends.

The both pulled back. "It's good to see you up," Harry said, his voice full of emotion. "Hell, it is good to just see you."

Ron was squeezing her shoulder so much that it almost hurt. "Merlin, we have missed you, Hermione."

"It is good to see you, too." Hermione said as she looked at both of them

They stood like that for what seemed like a lifetime, just soaking up the others presences. It was only broken when, Hermione's stomach made itself known and let out a low soft groan.

They were laughing then, and Ginny was standing next to them. "Let her sit down. I will get started on dinner."

Hermione found herself sitting at the table, a small cup of steaming tea in her hands as Harry and Ron sat down at the adjacent sides of the table.

"Tell me what happened," Hermione asked them both. It seemed to freeze both Harry and Ron, and Hermione could not help but notice the meaningful glance that they shared.

"Can't we talk about it later?" Harry asked his shoulders tense as he looked at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head, "I want to know."

"Go on," Ginny encouraged.

"Fine." It was with a heavy sigh that Harry started talking and Hermione found her attention glued to him. "It was a nightmare," he started before pausing. "Just absolutely awful. You didn't show up that night. At first we thought maybe you were just working extra late. But after midnight when you still weren't home we started to get worried. It wasn't until the morning that we suspected that something was really wrong. You always came home."

Harry sipped at his own tea, his eyes having taken on a faraway look as he stared off into the room.

"We went the Auror's and filed a missing persons report. It created uproar, of course. A war hero missing," Harry said with a sigh as he ran his hand through his messy hair. "Everyone was looking for you, Hermione. And not just the auroras. Well-meaning citizens were too!"

"Bill and Charlie even came back to help," Ron supplied.

Harry nodded in agreement. "Everyone was looking. We found more of the remaining death eaters in the following two weeks than we had in the past two months!"

"But did you find him? Dolohov?" Hermione asked.

"No. Not then. We didn't find him until six months later, and by then we had started losing hope that we would ever pick up your trail."

"We had him in custody for about two weeks, before we even suspected that he knew anything about your disappearance. We finally resorted to veritaserum to get the truth out of him," Ron said, picking up the story. "The media had another field day when they caught wind that we had finally found a lead on you."

"And did he tell you about when he did? The spell he used?" Hermione prompted, leaning forward on the table.

"He did." Harry said, a strange bitterness seeming to encompass his words.

"And," Hermione said, looking pleadingly at her friend. His face was grave, and Hermione could feel the tension settling back into her very bones. "What was it?"

"An old family curse it would seem," Ginny said as she sat down across the table from Hermione, taking her hand in her own. "We don't know how to undo it," she said softly, as she squeezed Hermione's hand. "But if anyone can figure it out, it will be you."

"What does it do," she asked quietly as she looked between her friends.

"As far as we can tell," Harry started, "it interferes with the victim's relationship to time and location. There have only been a few accounts we have been able to find." Harry paused and took another long sip of his tea, before putting it down and looking resolutely at the table top. "After they are cursed the victim pops in and out of the time stream, but it always becomes longer and longer before they pop back in, until finally they just don't," Harry explained, his voice seeming to choke as he explained this.

"You mean it is going to happen again?" Hermione asked, her own voice sounding small in her ears.

Harry just nodded.

"And then it becomes permanent? The disappearing?"

Another nod.

"The weird thing about the accounts," Ron said softly, "is that while sometimes they are transported to another continent or some nonsense like that, but other times there are reports of people having been places that don't exist here. I mean here, as on earth. They go other places, sometimes with, sometimes without magic. We figured that was why we couldn't find you. You weren't here, were you?"

"I wasn't," Hermione agreed, her hands tightening around her teacup. "I don't know where I was," she admitted her own voice choking up as well. "I tried to apparate back, after I got there and I was conscious enough to stand up straight."

"What happened," Ginny asked her voice soft.

"It was like running into a ward, but different, stronger. It made me so ill, I was sick," Hermione admitted. Ginny was squeezing her hand again, and Hermione gave her a watery smile. "I tried point-me's too, but my wand would just spin in lazy circles."

"Well, at least you know why," Ron said with a sigh. "Anyways. As far as we can tell there is no way to predict when it happens. From what we have gathered it is different for everyone."

A splattering hiss interrupted them. "That will be the stew," Ginny said, letting go of Hermione's hand and going to check the stove.

"It isn't going to just, you know, happen tomorrow is it?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No, of course not," Ron said, although by the look on his face, Hermione could tell that he was not even sure himself.

"We are going to figure this out, Hermione." Harry said his voice resolute. "We even have people in the department of mysteries looking into the spell."

Hermione could only nod, dread filling the pit of her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like this chapter might be the one that either makes or breaks the story for some people. It was exciting to write as this was always the original intention for the story. Hopefully you like it. If you don't, I hope you will at least give it a chance to prove itself!
> 
> There are so many crossovers where someone goes somewhere, but they never seem to go back! I don't want Hermione to be so instantly separated to start out with! We will gently ease her into middle-earth and there will be more heartache and then hopefully more fluttering hearts to follow.
> 
> I also want to let you know that there is only one more chapter here (at least that is the way it is planned), before Hermione goes back to our lovely Thorin.
> 
> QUESTION TO THE READERS: I really like stories like Indelible by leaper182, Made and Remade the Necklace of Songs by littleblackdog and Of Heart and Soul by Koneko713 (All can be found on AO3). I am thinking of incorporating very lightly a similar theme of soulmates into this story, depending on what you, the reader would like. Let me know!
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has been following this so far. I am so glad that everyone likes it!


	8. Chapter 8

**2005**

* * *

Hermione sat down the book she had been reading and ran her hands over her eyes. Glancing over at the clock, she cringed slightly as she realized how late it truly was.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice called from the doorway. "You're still awake?"

"Hmm, so it would seem," Hermione said with a yawn.

"What were you reading?" Ginny asked as she came in and sat down in the armchair that was situated next to Hermione's own.

"A new book I picked up at Flourish and Blotts today. It's a modern history," Hermione explained as she handed the book over to Ginny. "Harry, me and Ron were interviewed for it a few months back."

"Ah, I remember that," Ginny said as she examined the cover. "Is it any good?"

"They got most things right. Of course the bit about me at the end is left mostly a mystery," Hermione explained matter-of-factly as she stretched out in her chair. It was a sticking point for her most days. When she had been younger, Hermione would have said she would love a good mystery. These days, she would give just about anything to figure out the curse that tormented her thoughts daily.

When she had first returned, almost all of her actions had been the product of pure panic. She stayed in the house as much as possible, buried herself in research and correspondences with the unspeakables. A year had past, she had lost weight, and she had realized that she had stopped living her life because she feared losing it. The new year had come around and she had promised herself to try and relax a bit more, have more fun, and take time to just enjoy the time that she had with her friends.

That of course had not stopped her from researching the curse as much as she could when they were not around. With gold she had received as a reward for her services during the war, Hermione was able to live comfortably enough without working. She had commandeered the library at Grimmauld (not that the other tenants much minded) and spent at least a few hours every day researching, even going as far as trying to replicate the curse on some unfortunate rats. (It had not worked out very well in the end, and Hermione had more dead rats than missing rats).

The first few weeks she had been back had been both the hardest and the easiest. It was easy, because almost all of the materials had been collected for her already. All she had to do was read. It was the hardest because she had to come to terms with the fact that it was also happening to her.

What Harry, Ron and Ginny had told her the first night, was mostly true, if leaving out a few of the details. The curse was, in fact, an old curse, but it had not been created by the Dolohov family. They had simply found it and had adopted it as a family curse. With their family being the only ones that had knowledge of it, there were few recorded instances of it actually being used.

They had, in fact, six confirmed reports, all written by either the victim or the victim's family or friend. The most recent one was from over one-hundred years ago. In each case an individual had been cursed by a vengeful member of the Dolohov family, and in each case the individual would disappear. After that, the six different cases varied slightly, but they all ended the same. The record would just stop, or in some cases a family member or friend would indicated that they had never, to that point, seen the victim again.

It was disheartening to say the least. None of them had found a counter-curse, and Hermione feared her own fate would be much the same.

There was however one thing that the other cases had not mentioned. At the small of her back in thin black lines there was a marking. She barely noticed the mysterious tattoo of the gem these days, but she remembered that she had let out a small squeak of surprise when she had first noticed it in the mirror.

The marking of the gem was small, but Hermione yearned to know what in the world it meant.

She let out a small sigh and glanced over at Ginny. "Is James asleep now?"

"Mmm, for now," she replied sleepily.

Having been able to be present throughout her friend's pregnancy and then birth of her son, was one thing that Hermione considered herself blessed in. Some of the others that had been hit by the spell had spent as little as a year at home with their loved ones before being carried off again by the spell. It was now getting close to three years for Hermione, and a small part of her brain hoped that the spell would never rear its ugly head again. She knew it was wishful thinking however.

She tried not to dwell too much on it though, and she usually succeed. James had been born six months ago, and Hermione could not have been more delighted that her friends had decided that rather than moving into a house of their own (or simply kicking Hermione and Ron out of Grimmauld as it was technically Harry and Ginny's house) they had decided to stay.

Ron had gotten a place of his own two years ago, but still spent almost half of his nights here at Grimmauld. Hermione had never considered moving out, and Harry and Ginny never pressured her to consider it.

"How was your dinner tonight," Ginny was asking. "You didn't get in until late."

Hermione mentally cringed. While she had, two years ago, made a pact with herself to live her life to the best of her abilities. Ginny had taken that to mean that it was also perfectly fine to try and set Hermione up on dates.

"It was fine," Hermione replied noncommittally, hoping that Ginny would drop it.

"That is what you said about the last one," Ginny sighed, unimpressed.

"The last one was fine, too. We just didn't really click."

"He was handsome though, wasn't he?" Ginny asked, throwing a glance over at Hermione to no doubt gauge her reaction.

"He was handsome." Hermione agreed with an exasperated sigh.

"Not as handsome as your dwarf friend though," Ginny teased.

At this, Hermione could feel herself blush. If there was one thing that she had regretted from her retelling of her adventure it was that she had somehow given Ginny the idea that she had a ridiculous crush on Thorin.

Well… maybe she did. Just a little bit.

But it wasn't something she wanted Ginny to continue to bring up!

"I thought we agreed not to discuss that anymore," Hermione said snippily.

"You agreed, I did not," Ginny said with a small smile. "How did you describe him? Oh yes, I remember. 'A bit dark and brooding, but with a great deal of sex appeal. Solidly built, with crystal blue eyes, a fine stubble, and a mane of dark hair that I could sink my hands into,'" Ginny finished in a sing-song voice.

"I was drunk when I said that," Hermione rebutted, but her blush felt ten times stronger.

"All the more truth behind it then," Ginny bantered back.

"You'll never give this up will you?" Hermione asked in exasperation.

"Never," Ginny agreed.

"Ginny, we don't even know if I will ever see him again."

Ginny snorted. "The others always seemed to meet the same people again."

"Yes, but maybe I will most likely be drawn back to either of the two towns we stopped in. He was a traveling blacksmith for goodness sakes!"

It was an old argument that they were having. Of the six accounts that they had of this, all of them indicated that they returned to generally the same area and thus became acquainted with the individuals that lived there. Ginny argued that maybe it was not so much the location, but the people that the victim of the curse was drawn to. Hermione argued that it was more likely the location they were drawn back to.

The two of them had frequently bickered back and forth about it, and because there was no way to prove anything until Hermione actually went back again, they often ended up frustrating one another.

"I still say that you will end back up there with him," Ginny said matter of factly before she dumped Hermione's book onto the coffee table that sat between their chairs.

"Ginny," Hermione moaned in frustration.

"I know, I know. I am going back to bed," she said as she stood up with a stretch. "Try not to stay up too late."

"Yes, mother," Hermione snipped, although her words held little bite. "Good night, Ginny."

"Night."

* * *

It was one month later when Hermione found herself ripping into the packaging of a small black leather bound journal. The letter that had been with it lay discarded on the table, and Hermione could feel her hands trembling with excitement. The book had been mailed to her by a distant relative of one of their better case subjects, a Miss. Francesca Adami.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry had taken the time to visit each of the remaining family of the six victims that they knew of. They had asked the family members for any information they had in regards to the victim of the curse, and for any written records they might have had. Most of them had little knowledge of the individual in question and unfortunately could provide little help.

However, the package that Hermione was currently in the process of ripping open was from Anetta Adami, the great niece of Francesca Adami. She had recently inherited the family estate, and had been cleaning out some of the storage areas. She had come across the journal of her great aunt and had recalled them visiting with her father. Anetta had read the journal before sending it, and insisted that she did not know if it would be of much help, but Hermione could not wait to go through it.

Hermione's feet carried her back to her favorite reading chair and she sat down rather ungracefully as she flipped open to the first page and began to read.

This was how Harry found her hours later.

"Hermione?" He asked uncertainly as he stepped into the room.

"Oh, Harry. Hi," she said as she looked up from the entry she had been staring at. He was standing in his auror robes, a sack of groceries hanging from his hands.

Hermione glanced at the bag and she could hear her stomach growl at the mere thought of food. Harry must have heard it too because he let out a small chuckle.

"Been at it long?" he asked.

Hermione glanced up at the face of the grandfather clock that stood in the corner. "Yes," she admitted as she closed the journal and stood up.

"Come on, then. Ginny should be back from the Burrow soon." He lead the way back towards the kitchen and Hermione followed. Harry shrugged out of his robes leaving him in just a pair of plain wool pants and crisp white shirt. Setting the groceries on the counter and rolling up his sleeves he began to prep for dinner. "So what are you reading today," he asked.

Hermione plopped down at the kitchen table and picked up the letter she had left there earlier in the afternoon. "You remember when we went to see the Adami family?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, the old man was less than thrilled to see us," Harry supplied as he began slicing away at some carrots.

"Yes, well, his daughter recently inherited the estate. She sent me Francesca Adami's journal," Hermione said with bated breath, waiting to see the reaction from Harry.

As she predicted he nearly dropped the knife he was holding and turned to look at her, just as excited as she had been when she had originally torn into the package.

"Well?" Harry asked, his voice eager. "You obviously have read it by now, otherwise you would not be sitting here with me!"

"It is more than we had before, but not much," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice light.

"Not enough to really go off of?" Harry asked, seeming to deflate a little bit.

"No, not really," Hermione admitted as she ran her thumb across the cover of the journal. "It's just...," she trailed off as she stared down at the book.

"Just what?" Harry asked, his voice soft as he left the carrots and sat down across from her.

"They all just seem to give in, in the end," Hermione said softly, before she looked up at Harry, unable to hide her frown.

Harry's hands were suddenly around hers. "You are the smartest witch I know, Hermione. If anyone is going to figure this out it will be you."

Hermione shook her head. "It wasn't a defeated resignation," Hermione said as flipped through the pages of the journal.. "This is the most personal account we have, and in the end she seemed, well, happy to go. Here, you read it," Hermione explained as she flipped to the page she had been staring at earlier.

"The June 20th entry?" Harry asked as he took the small leather book from Hermione. He glanced down at it and then back up at Hermione. "This isn't going to try and eat my soul is it?" he asked coyly.

"Ha, ha," Hermione said dryly. "Just read it."

Clearing his throat Harry held the journal up in front of him. "I know that the day on which the curse will flare again is getting nearer. It has been almost six months since I returned home. It is a strange thing though. Knowing I have lost seven years, home no longer feels so much like home. Ma and Pa, and little baby Piero, who isn't much of a baby anymore, are all still here, but we have grown distant.

In all truth, the other place is starting to feel more like home than here ever has, and I am actually looking forward to returning. The curse, if I can even really call it that anymore, has given me a fuller life than I had ever anticipated to find here. It has been a blessing in disguise and if I were a bit more brave I might even send a thank you note to the Dolohovs."

Harry paused and looked up at her.

"The other accounts indicate similar sentiments, although in not so many words," Hermione said softly.

"Really? I never really picked up on that," Harry said.

"Yes, well that is the 'not so many words' part," Hermione replied sarcastically. "The accounts of both Goldstein and Bramstan's family members indicated that they thought that maybe their relatives were better off on the other side."

"Hermione, we are not going to give up on you," Harry said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I know that!" Hermione said, her voice rising in frustration. "But what happens when I give up!" she nearly yelled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. "What happens when you are all, ten, twenty, thirty years older than I am, and I decide I am better off there than I am here."

"Are you going to?" Harry asked, his voice calm.

"I don't know!" Hermione cried out, before turning her head quickly away from Harry's penetrating gaze. "I am scared," she admitted, her voice sounds small in her own ears. "I don't want to lose all of you."

"You aren't going to lose us. And what I know is that whatever happens down the road, whether it be ten, twenty or thirty years from now, me and Ginny and Ron will always stand-by you regardless of what choice you decide to make."

"God, Harry," Hermione sniffed as she brought her hand up to rub at her eyes. "When did you get so wise."

Harry let out a snort. "Who knows, but if you could tell Ginny I would appreciate it."

Hermione felt herself smile at that. "She already knows that,"

"Good," Harry said with a nod. "Why don't you go get cleaned up, and I will finish getting dinner prepped."

"Thanks, Harry."

* * *

The next morning when Hermione didn't make it to breakfast, Harry and Ginny didn't think much of it, putting it down to her exhausting herself the night before.

When she was not downstairs when they both had gotten home from work, and Ginny had picked James up from the Burrow, they checked her room together. It was empty.

When she was not home when they checked her room the next morning, they knew what had happened.

"She's gone," Ginny whispered sadly as they took in the empty room.

"She will be back," Harry said resolutely, as he rubbed small comforting circles on his wife's back.

"Yes, but when?"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (╯︵╰,) Poor 'Mione.
> 
> Hope you guys liked the chapter. Thank you for all of the responses you sent to the previous one! I got lots of good responses in regards to my questions and am looking forward to sharing with everyone what I have planned for the next leg of the story!
> 
> ((Also, a big thanks to theundyinglands who made three awesome banners for the story! You can find links to them on her FF-net profile page!))


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin stared distastefully at the ledger that sat in front of him. Their funds were dwindling yet again. Cursing under his breath, Thorin shut the book with more force than was strictly necessary and stood from the table. The hour was late, and every so often he could hear the muffled booms of thunder as the storm raged over the Blue Mountains. Thorin paced over to the fireplace and tossed on yet another log. He doubted he would sleep much tonight.

The limited communal funds of Ered Luin had been a continual problem for as long as he could remember, but over the past year, it had seemed to grow even worse. He and Balin had met frequently, trying to determine the root cause of the problem, and they had settled onto one main reason. The dwarves of Ered Luin were leaving. It was not in droves that they left the small settlement, but every few months for the past number of years a family would move out, many of them making for the more prosperous Iron Hills. This year however, one of the more successful families had left, leaving a noticeable hole in Ered Luin's income.

Thorin knew there were those, loyal Erebore dwarves, that would never leave the place that the Durin folk resided, but he could not force any of the dwarves to stay. Ered Luin was failing and Thorin did not know what he could do to save it. They needed funds in order to buy the much needed agricultural products from the men and hobbits that lived to the south. They continued to mine, but the materials that they were able to pull out of the Blue Mountains was only enough to cover the cost of the food. There were other things that the dwarves needed; leathers, cloths, herbs, and medicines. The list went on and on. In short, they relied too heavily on trade, and did not have the skilled labor needed to avoid the cost.

Come spring, there would be nothing for it. Thorin, himself, would have to go back out onto the road to sell his talent as a blacksmith once again. Dis would not be pleased. She would be left to running Ered Luin by herself, yet again.

Thorin settled himself down onto his bed, and lit his pipe, trying to relax himself enough that he might be able to sleep. It was no use worrying endlessly tonight. There would be plenty of time for that as winter was fast approaching, and it would seal them off from the outside world.

* * *

It was a cold winter morning like any other, and Thorin was just finishing his meal from the communal kitchen when a guard approached him.

"Do you have a moment, sir?" the guard asked. Thorin looked up from his plate at the young man. Thorin thought his name might be Fonri, but he could be mistaken. He was young, maybe only five years older than Fili. It made Thorin's chest ache to think that so many of the young ones needed to work out of necessity, when in Erebore many had not needed to work until they were older and had a far greater number of occupations to choose from.

"Of course, what is it?" Thorin asked him.

"Dwalin sent me for you, said you would want to see her for yourself," the guard explained. "He didn't tell me much about it, just to find you. They're in the guardhouse."

Thorin frowned, wondering what sort of trouble was in store for him. There were few dwarrowdams here at Ered Luin, maybe only twenty percent of the population. They could truly not afford to lose any of them to any sort of trouble. Standing from the table, he nodded to the guard. "I will go to him at once," he said, his voice sounding grave, even to his own ears.

"Very well, sir," the guard replied. "If you will excuse me, I am scheduled for watch soon."

"Of course," Thorin replied. Thorin watched the guard leave, before beginning his own trek to the guardhouse.

Despite having been occupied by dwarves for close to one hundred years now, Ered Luin had still not grown to be of any great size. Thorin could still remember when his father had first lead them all here, and they had begun digging out the mountain to suite their own purposes. For those first ten years, there had not been enough room inside for everyone to live beneath the mountain. Today, everyone lived inside the mountain's stony halls, but what had once been a space overflowing with dwarves was now beginning to feel too large for the numbers left.

The guardhouse sat towards the front of the small underground city. It had been carved into the mountain and only the front of the guardhouse had any entrances, the rest of it being encased within uncarved mountain. It consisted of barracks for the guards that did not have family homes of their own, as well as a few cells for any dwarf that had tested their luck against the law one too many times.

Dwalin oversaw the guards when he was in residence at Ered Luin, and Thorin was glad to have a guard master that he knew he would never have to second guess. When he reached the guardhouse he quickly stepped inside, and found Dwalin waiting in the main room for him.

"Dwalin," Thorin said by way of greeting. Dwalin turned from the fire and nodded to him, his face unhappy. They stared at each other for a moment before Thorin spoke again. "The guard you sent said you had a problem?"

"Aye," Dwalin grumbled, unfolding his arms. "It ain't so much of a law-breaking problem either. Come on, let me show you."

For a fleeting moment Thorin had a ridiculous notion that maybe Dwalin had gotten a dwarrowdam with child. The guard had said it was a problem with a female, and he had trouble thinking of any non-law-breaking problem Dwalin would ever get himself involved with. His curiosity spiked, Thorin followed Dwalin up the stairs and into the barracks. There was a guard stationed in the hallway, and when Dwalin turned back to make sure Thorin was following him, Thorin raised his eyebrow in question.

Dwalin just shook his head though and stopped in front of one of the rooms furthest down the hallway and knocked.

There was the faint sound of someone calling them in, and Dwalin opened the door and stepped in. Thorin turned into the room, and stopped in surprise.

This was no dwarrowdam. It was the woman that he had traveled with very briefly the year prior. She was sitting by the fire, a cup of tea clutched in her hands.

"We found her wandering in through the main gates last night," Dwalin said by way of explanation.

"Hello," she said, a small smile making its way onto her face.

Thorin was at a loss as he stared at the woman. How in the world had she managed to make it to Ered Luin in the middle of the winter. There was at least five feet of snow on the ground in all directions, and it had even been snowing last night. All of the roads were blocked off, and the closest settlement was well over thirty miles away.

"Those were my thoughts exactly," Dwalin muttered, knowing Thorin well enough to know exactly what was going on in his head. He moved closer to Thorin, bending his head close to Thorin's. "I don't know how she did it, but she is here now, and we can't very well just send her back out into the snow," he said quietly, his displeasure quite apparent.

Dwalin was right. They could not send her back outside, but never before had they let an outsider dwell within the halls of Ered Luin. In Erebore, it had been unavoidable. There would be convoys of men and elf alike that would come to see Erebore's splendors. In Erebore, however, there had been specific guest quarters close to the surface. Here, there were none as they had never had a need.

It was one thing to travel with a woman of the men-folk for a short time. It was another to invite her into their home for the next three months.

There was also the question of how she had gotten here.

Her disappearing act from over a year had been shocking enough. She had quite literally disappeared in front of his eyes. During the month long trip back to Ered Luin, he and Dwalin had ample time to discuss what had happened. Dwalin was dead set on some sort of sorcery being involved, and Thorin had little reason not to agree. The woman had been eager to meet with Gandalf, and she had made quite the dramatic exit. Now, she was making a dramatic entrance. Something wasn't quite right, and Thorin was more convinced than ever that Dwalin was probably right. She was either in league with a wizard or she had her own type of magic.

His gaze shifted from Dwalin and back to the woman, his eyes studying her face. She was older of course, but she looked like she had aged more than what was common for the men-folk, not that Thorin ever paid the quick lived folk much mind.

"Our paths cross again, Miss Granger," he said as he stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. It would be no good to have the guard stationed outside hearing more than he needed to.

"Quite unexpected," she agreed with a nod. She looked tired to Thorin.

"Unexpected indeed, and yet you have found yourself at my door twice now. Not a coincidence, I think. Tell me, how is it that you disappeared when we were traveling together," he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even. There was no reason to beat around the bush here. He needed answers, and she would give them to him if she had any wits about her.

She stared up at him, her hands still clenched around her tea cup and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Obviously there was something that she was not keen on telling him.

"Did you ever hear if the wizard, Gandalf, I think you said his name was, was in the shire?" she asked, completely ignoring the question.

"He was, but he is gone again. Off on some errand of his own design, most likely. That, however, did not answer my question."

There was a long drawn out silence, before she finally spoke again. "It was magic," she said quietly, her face unable to hide her worry.

Thorin could almost feel himself deflate at that. Dwalin had been right all along, not that he had doubted him  _that_  much. He cast a glance over at where his friend was standing, and could see that his face had darkened as well. To play host to a guest that was involved in magic was always a tricky and dangerous thing.

"Some incantation cast by a wizard, or something of your own making?" He found himself asking, before even fully turning back to her. It had been an argument of his and Dwalin's all the way back to Ered Luin.

"A curse, from a wizard in my homeland," she admitted easily, before taking a deep breath. She straightened her back, and looked straight into his eyes before speaking again. "I am a witch, though. It is why I was originally excited to learn that there was another wizard potentially in the area."

Thorin nodded. It all made more sense now. Why she had disappeared in the middle of the night.

"And you made it here by your own means, or was it this so called curse?" Dwalin asked his voice thick with distrust.

"The curse," the woman huffed. "Trust me. I did not intend to leave my bed last night to wander through a snow storm."

And Thorin found that he did trust her. Well, at least more than Dwalin did. During the few short days that he had known her, she had never done anything to make him distrust her.

"I imagine that, similarly to last time, you have no means of traveling back to your home?" Thorin asked.

"None. But I always intended to seek out the wizard you spoke of, if I was back here," she explained, the grip on her tea cup having loosened a bit as her story progressed.

"You will be unable to do that for some time," Thorin replied quickly, bringing a hand up to rub against the headache he felt coming on. "The roads will be impassable until the spring, and even then the roads are torturous with the amount of mud that is created."

A frown graced her face as she stared up at him. "Then it seems that I will be indebted to you once again, if I am allowed to stay," she said, and he was unable to help but notice the way her eyes flickered over towards Dwalin who was all but glowering at her from the corner. Thorin wondered what he might have said to the woman before he arrived.

"She will have to stay," he said, more to Dwalin than to Hermione.

"Aye," he muttered gruffly, before turning his head to look at Thorin. "But where. We don't have the guest quarters..." Thorin could hear the unfinished thought continuing on. We don't have the guest quarters to keep her away from the rest of the dwarves. To keep her away from the dwarrow secrets, the dwarrow way of life.

Thorin was unable to contain the sigh that escaped through his lips. "There are plenty of homes that now stand empty," he said unhappily. "Find a suitable one closest the main gate. She can stay there, and we will have someone bring meals to the house."

Dwalin only grunted in acceptance, not even waiting to hear more before he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. There was no doubt in Thorin's mind that he was off to complete the task himself, rather than trust it to one of his underlings to complete the task for him.

"I hope that this won't be too much of a trouble for you," Hermione was saying, breaking Thorin away from his thoughts.

"It is not ideal," he admitted, "but there are few other options open to us at this time. Come spring you can travel with one of our caravans to Hobbiton. Gandalf seems to pass through there often enough that you should be able to make his acquaintance there."

"Thank you," she said her voice sincere. "Really, you have been very kind to me. Not just this time, but before. I never got a chance to properly thank you then, but your kindness probably saved me. I don't know what would have happened if I had not stumbled into your workshop that night."

Thorin could feel his cheeks begin to flush, and he had to fight the urge to shift uncomfortably. It had been a long time since anyone had thanked him in so many words. Ever since his father had disappeared, it was just expected that he would put the needs of his people before his own. No one ever thanked him for the work he did, though he was sure they were grateful.

"You're welcome," he said gruffly, unable to tear his gaze away from the brown eyes that stared up at him. "Have all of your needs been attended to? The guardhouse does not frequently host visitors."

With the harder questions behind them, her shoulders seemed to relax and a grateful smile made its way back onto her face. "I have everything I need, and the guards were," she paused, obviously struggling for the right words, "accommodating," she finished with a small shrug. Thorin could only imagine how accommodating Dwalin had been. At least he hadn't put her in a cell, although Thorin wouldn't have put it past him.

"Through your stay here, if there is anything that you need, please let us know," Thorin said, his manners not forgotten.

She looked slightly hesitant for a moment before asking. "Where exactly is here?"

"Ered Luin," Thorin replied, although slightly exasperated. A year had clouded his memories of her, but now that she was back in his presence the memories began to come back to him more clearly. She was a person that had more questions than all of the gold in Erebore. "It is the current home of my people, the ones displaced when we lost Erebore. It is the same place that I was traveling to when we first meet."

"Ah," she said, nodding her head. "Are there many people, um, dwarves that live here?"

"Close to two hundred now, there were more before," he said with a sigh. He would have to make his escape now, or he would never be able to pull himself away. "If there is nothing else that you currently need, I would take my leave of you," he said quickly.

"Oh," she said slightly surprised, "Of course."

"Dwalin, I expect, will be back within the hour to accompany you to your new quarters, and I expect that I will see you again soon as well." He gave a small perfunctory bow and left, not waiting to hear her reply.

* * *

He was out of the guardhouse, and walking down the street back towards his own offices his mind quickly trying to analyze how this would be taken by the dwarves that lived here. They would most likely be outraged that an outsider would be living in their halls for the winter months.

Rubbing again at his brow, trying to fight the headache that was making itself know, he did not notice the two younger dwarves until they flanked him.

"Is it true, Uncle Thorin? A woman wandered in from the snow storm last night?"

Thorin turned his head as he continued to walk, Kili keeping pace with him. Mahal damn the rumor mill of Ered Luin.

"I saw Dwalin going into one of the abandoned homes near the front gates," Fili added from his other side.

"And where did you hear such a rumor," Thorin grumbled, his pace quickening despite knowing he would be unable to shake his nephews.

"Well I heard it from Ori, who heard it from one of the kitchen hands, who I think might have heard it from their father, but I am not sure," Kili trailed off.

So by now, everyone had most likely heard about it. Perfect.

"Yes," he bit out in exasperation.

"Really? It's true? I just thought Kili was making things up," Fili exclaimed.

"I was not!"

Thorin stopped in his tracks, the boys stumbling to a stop ahead of him. "I will not have you spreading any more rumors about this. The facts are these. Yes, there is a woman that wandered to our gates during the snow storm. Yes, she is going to be staying here until the roads clear, and yes, she is going to be staying in one of the houses near the front gate."

"Fili," Kili said a huge grin upon his face, "I think this might turn out to be one of the most interesting winters we've had in years!"

Throin could not help but groan. More like one of the most exasperating, headache inducing winters yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. Hermione is back in the care of Thorin, and has all of Ered Luin to explore! We will see more of her perspective on things in the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking with me through the two chapters that were back with Harry & Co.
> 
> As always, hope that you guys enjoyed this installment.
> 
> Any dwarves in particular that you guys would be interested in Hermione meeting?


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione's head twisted left, right, up and down as Dwalin, the rather grumpy dwarf she had met her first time here, led her to what would be her new home for the foreseeable future. The city was amazing. There were a few ancient cities from her own time and places that could boast of small towns built into the sides of mountains, but she had never seen anything quite like this!

Last night when she had been rather rudely dragged in from the snow by an exuberant guard, she had been so ill and cold from her abrupt departure from her bed that she had not had the wits about her to truly take in her surroundings. Now that she was warm and well fed, however, she was able to see just what she had missed.

It was a miniature city, from what she could tell, built completely into the hard stone of what she assumed was a mountain. There were a few small shops that they passed by, and plenty of doorways that looked like they led into homes. The streets were relatively quiet, however, and they only passed by a few other dwarves who all stared at her as they passed.

Hermione could feel herself blush slightly at the surprised and slightly wary stares that were directed towards her. The last group of dwarves had seemed to almost openly glare at her, and once they had passed Hermione quickened her pace to walk beside Dwalin, rather than trail behind him as she took in her surroundings.

"You don't get many visitors here, do you?" she asked in a low voice, keeping her eyes out for any other unfriendly dwarves they might stumble across.

"No," Dwalin replied bluntly, before quickening his pace even more. They were nearly jogging, and Hermione could practically feel the tension rolling off of her guide.

Determining that Dwalin was less than inclined to speak with her, Hermione kept her mouth shut as they hurried down a narrow side street. Hermione was thinking that Dwalin must be yet another dwarf that was not going to take a visitor kindly when he stopped rather abruptly in front on an unlit door.

Hermione stopped beside him and stared up at the rock face that the door was carved into. There were a few windows surrounding it, but the entire front of the rock face seemed, if possible, more unkempt that the houses they had passed on the main wide street that they had been walking down before.

"Here we are," Dwalin said gruffly as he pushed his way up the few steps and through the heavy timber door. The little light that had been flowing into the narrow side street was all but swallowed up as she stepped into the front room of the house. She had to squint to see where Dwalin had went to, and from the very faint light that was struggling in through the dirty window; Hermione saw that he was stooped over a hearth.

A few moments later the warm light of the fire flicker round the room, and Hermione got her first good look at her new accommodations. They were nothing to write home about.

The accommodations were almost as simple as those she had seen in Thorin's workshop when she had first arrived in this strange world. There was a small table that sat under the window, with two chairs pushed neatly up to it. Another desk sat in the corner closer to the fire and an empty shelf stood beside it along with a sizeable stack of firewood. On the empty wall, a stairway carved of stone led up to what Hermione could only assume was a bed chamber.

It was small, dirty, and lacked even the smallest item to make it feel at all homely.

If Dwalin noticed her distaste for the place, he ignored it completely.

"Let's set down some ground rules now, lass," he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You are close to the gates. Just down the road back to the main road we were on before, take a left and the gate is no more than a minute walk away. You can go to the gates whenever you wish. It takes the men and elf folks queerly sometimes to be staying under the mountain," he explained with an unconcerned shrug. "Your meals will be brought to you here, and we will not be suffering you wandering wherever you please."

"So I am to stay cooped up in here?" Hermione interrupted, not liking at all the way in which this conversation was progressing.

"No, I did not say that," Dwalin said with a frown. "Just that we do not wish you to be traveling deep into Ered Luin. If you feel you must wander, keep it to the front of the mountain. Do not wander any further than the guardhouse, and you will be fine." He paused, his eyes raking over her face before he continued, his tone hardening again. "And we will not have you be causing any trouble with your magic. Do that, and you will be back out in the snow."

"Fine," Hermione said stiffly.

"Good," Dwalin grunted. Hermione stepped out of his way as he pushed past her to the door. "Someone will be by with dinner later, and to take a list of whatever items you might be needing."

"How long will that be?" Hermione found herself asking as she peered out of the window. There was, as far as she could tell, no way to tell what time it was.

"Another few hours," Dwalin said gruffly as he stepped out onto the street. "Remember. Don't wander far." And with that, he pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Hermione standing in the middle of the room alone. Hermione stared at the closed door, shocked slightly by the feeling of abrupt aloneness. She huffed slightly, before turning back from the door, and taking in the room once again.

There really was not much in it. Taking a closer look at the contents of the room, she saw that the desk held a small candleholder and candle stick, and that there was a flint on the fireplaces mantle. There were no culinary items in the room, and after rummaging through the drawers of the desk, Hermione found that there was only an abandoned quill and a few scraps of parchment left within it.

She ventured upstairs and found that it was in fact a bedchamber and behind a small curtain she found the water closet. Sitting on a small end table in the room was also a small jug and basin, which Hermione assumed was for water, though where she was supposed to go in order to fill it, she had no idea. The bed itself looked to be a mattress filled with straws, and Hermione could not help but slightly wrinkle her nose at the simpleness of the entire home.

She had made her way back downstairs and looked around once more at the empty room, when the panic began to catch up with her. Before this, her situation had no permanence to it, and things had been changing at such a rate that she had not had much idea as to what her immediate future would hold for her. Now, however, she was faced directly with what the upcoming weeks would hold. A dreary house, with little in the way of company, based upon the reaction she had gotten from the number of dwarves that she had passed on the way here.

She slumped into the chair by the window, and could not help it as her thoughts drifted back to her friends. Surely by now they had found that she was gone again. A whole week, or maybe even a month might, in fact, have passed by, and she would have no way of knowing. Hermione could feel her throat going dry and tightening, but she resolutely kept a stiff upper lip and avoided letting herself fall into tears.

The last time she had been here, there had been such uncertainty in what had happened. Now, though, she knew exactly what had happened. She was stuck in another world with no way of getting home in the foreseeable future. When she got back, her friends and family would be far older than she was, and there was not a thing she could do to stop that.

Shaking her head, she resolutely put a stop to that train of thought. It would do her no good to dwell on it. Nothing would change. Instead Hermione found herself glancing out the window. If the dwarves had meant to seclude her, they had chosen a good spot to do so. The narrow street boasted of few other houses and shops, and all of them appeared to be lacking tenants. She could see down the street, opposite of the direction they had come, and saw that it ended into a solid wall of stone. The only way back out was the way they had come.

Turning her attention back to matters at hand, though. Hermione thought about what Dwalin had said. Someone would be coming to get a list of things that she needed.

Pushing up the sleeve of the dress that the guards had provided her with, as they had all but baulked at the night gown she had shown up in, Hermione pulled out her wand. She had never been more thankful for the fact that the war with Voldemort had made her accustom to always wearing her wand in its harness. She had, of course, taken to even sleeping with it on once she had learned the nature of the curse she was under.

Setting the wand on the table, she reached over her head and pulled off the necklace she had been wearing. It was a very handy piece of magic, even more advance than the bag she had carried during the search for the horcruxes. On a small length of chain was what looked like a small pendant of a bag. In actuality, it was a very practical bag that could be shrunken and grown, despite the charms that made its insides bottomless. It had taken Hermione all but a week of carrying around her old bottomless bag to determine that she needed something a little more practical. It had taken her another three months to work out the arithmancy necessary to combine the shrinking, weightless and bottomless charms, but the result had been absolutely fantastic.

Tapping her wand to the bag now in question, Hermione watched as it grew to the size of a rather large carpetbag. Her first order of business was to get into some of her own clothing. The dress they had been able to procure for her was fine, but it reached no further than her knees, and the cold that seemed to permeate the halls of stone left her wanting for sturdier garments.

She pulled open that bag and ran through her mental list of its contents. When packing it, Ginny, Harry, Ron and herself had tried to come up with everything that she might need. There was a tent for camping, cooking supplies, potions, reference books, and clothing. There were other odds and ends as well such as a rather plain dagger to replace the one she had lost when traveling back to her world and a pack that was similar to the one she had originally traveled with, in case she ever needed to disguise the fact that she carried everything she needed in the necklace that hung around her neck.

With a quick accio, Hermione had a much heavier set of pants and sweater on, and folded the dress up. She intended to give it back to whoever had originally lent it to her. After this, another quick warming charm on her clothing and the stone floor left her feeling much better.

It was with another glance at the dirty windows, and dusty contents of the room, that Hermione wished she had spent more time listening to Mrs. Weasley's instructions on cleaning charms. Ginny, who had them drilled into her head ever since she was a small girl, usually took care of such charms around Grimwauld and Hermione had never paid it much mind. Now looking at the shabby interior of the place she was going to live for the foreseeable future, she cursed her inattentiveness.

With a long swish of her wand, Hermione carefully pronounced the words of the unpracticed charm to get rid of the dust that clung to the surfaces throughout the room. There was a brief feeling of wind ripping through the room, and when the air settled the room did look slightly less dusty, although she could still see some clinging to the junctures of the wall and floor.

Sighing to herself, she sat back down in her chair and reshrunk her bag, putting it around her neck.

Sitting in her one chair, Hermione bemoaned the fact that she had not considered to pack anything in her bag to stave off boredom. With nothing for her hands to do, her mind wandered.

Mostly she felt the pang of loss, and she thought of her friends.

But her mind also focused on those she had met thus far. Thorin and Dwalin. She had not thought about them much since being introduced to the house, as her immediate surroundings had preoccupied her. But now, that she had done what little settling in she could, her mind turned to them.

Dwalin was much like she had remembered him. He was still gruff, and unfriendly, his lack of trust readily apparent.

Thorin seemed different though. When it had been revealed that he was a prince, she had almost laughed out loud. ‘Thorin, a prince?’ her mind had said. But, now that she saw him here in this place she was more apt to believe it. The dusty traveling cloak and dirty clothing had been replaced with a set of fine clothing and adornments. They had certainly made him look more kingly.

And his countenance had seemed slightly different as well. While they had traveled, he had certainly not seemed jovial, but he had at least seemed content. Here, during the brief time they had spent together, he had seemed distracted. He had not even stayed long enough to ask much in regards to how she had been. After a few questions were answered he had simply left her in the care of Dwalin and gone back to whatever tasks filled his day here.

It did not quite hurt, but Hermione had always expected that if their paths had crossed once again, they would have at least met as friends rather than near strangers.

There was nothing for it now, of course. She had no idea where he might be. In all likelihood he was deep within the small city, passed the guardhouse where she was not allowed to go. She would not put it past Dwalin to keep to his word and throw her out into the snow if she did not heed his warnings. It would have to be him coming to her, or else she was sure she would likely never see him again unless he came to find her.

* * *

 

She was about to get up to put another log onto the fire when there was a knock at the door. Turning away from the woodpile Hermione walked to the door and opened it, unsure as to who to expect.

It was an older dwarf that stood on her doorstep, his hair white. He gave a polite nod of his head and held up the bag in his hands.

“Good evening,” he said politely. “I am Balin.”

“Hermione,” she said as she stepped out of the way and let the older man in.

He bustled into the room and set the sack carefully onto the table. “I have your dinner here with me, and have come to also answer any questions you might have about your stay with us, as well as get the list of anything you feel you might be needing,” he explained as he dug open the sack. “But before all of that, let us eat.”

Hermione could feel her stomach gurgle happily at the thought of food and she hoped that Balin had not heard it. Instead she gave him a friendly smile and glanced down at the large package he carried. He had set it on the table and was in the process of unwrapping a large loaf of bread. Unsure what to do with herself, Hermione pulled out the chair at the table at sat down.

Once Balin had pulled out a clamped pot out of his hefty bag, as well as two bowls and spoons, he sat down himself and began unclamping the lid. "I do hope that stew is okay with you, Madame," he said as he began to dish out the thick contents of the pot.

"Of course," Hermione said, taking the bowl proffered to her. "Right now, I am hungry enough to each just about anything."

"Well then, I am glad that Bombur packed us a large pot," Balin said with a smile of his own. They drifted back into a slightly stilted silence, both taking the time to become accustom to one another. Hermione was under no illusions that she presented something of an oddity to the dwarves under the mountain, and she could feel the dwarfs penetrating gaze linger on her as she ate. She herself stole more than one long look at her guest though.

He was older than either Thorin or Dwalin, though he looked to be rather well dressed. At least better than a number of other dwarves she had noticed on her walk here. They obviously weren’t sending a kitchen hand to deliver her meals.

She was about to take another bite, when Balin broke the silence. "How are you finding your stay with us thus far?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Hermione finished taking her bite and chewed thoughtfully. "It has been fine," she said truthfully. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either.

Balin nodded as though he had expected that much to be the case. "The accommodations Dwalin found for you are a bit," he paused looking around with a wry smile, "sparse. I will have someone stop by with a few more things to make the place more comfortable. Is there anything in particular that you need? I understand that you were found with very few possessions on you."

"Do you have any books? Something to keep myself busy with? The prospect of being here for weeks with nothing to do is a bit daunting," Hermione admitted easily.

Balin hummed while he considered this before giving her a small shake of his. "The small library that we have here has no books in the common tongue that I am aware of. Thorin has a small collection of his own though. He may possibly have something in the common tongue that you could borrow," he explained as he tugged meditatively on the end of his rather long beard. "I will ask around for you, and maybe we can think up some other things to help keep you occupied."

"Thank you," Hermione said, the gratitude easily discerned in her voice.

"No problem at all," Balin replied with a wave of his hand. “Is there anything else that I can do for you? Any other questions I might answer?”

Hermione pulled her eyebrows together, thinking briefly before answering. “Is there somewhere I can get water? I saw the jug upstairs, but nowhere to tap from.”

“Aye,” Balin said with a quick nod. “Just back out on the main road. There are pumps every thousand paces or so.”

Hermione nodded back her understanding, as she watched Balin pulled a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. “One last thing, lass, before I will be leaving you to rest for the evening. His highness has invited you to sup with his family two evenings from now,” he explained as he passed the sealed parchment to her. “There will be someone along that evening to escort you to the royal residence.”

Hermione stared at the parchment now held lightly in her hands. It made her feel slightly light headed to think about meeting his entire family. He had not talked much of them, but from what she recalled he had described his sister and her boys as being quite a handful.

“Alright,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I will be looking forward to it.”

“Very good, Lass,” Balin replied brightly. “Well, I’ll be taking my leave of you now. I am sure we will run into each other again in the future.” And just like that, he had gathered up his few belongings that had remained on the table and was giving her a short bow of his head.

“Have a good evening,” Hermione replied politely, a short bow of her own head.

The door swung shut behind Balin with a rather loud bang, and Hermione was left sitting at the table looking down at the piece of paper sitting lightly within her grasp. So he wanted to see her after all. A small smile made its way across her lips and she found that she was rather looking forward to seeing him again despite the rather brief and impersonal reunion that they had shared earlier.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter. I apologize that it took me so long. This chapter really is not terribly exciting and I struggled with it for quite a while (as you can tell by the lack of updates.) I didn’t ever really read through it very carefully, so again I apologize if there are many errors.
> 
> I am hoping that the next chapter comes along a bit better. Until next time, thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: animal abuse

Hermione, dressed in the traveling garb she had packed for herself, was going out to wander the city for the afternoon. A shy young dwarf had dropped off bread, cheese and some dried meats for her breakfast and lunch, but had only stayed long enough to see the bundle into her hands before he had scampered off. She had eaten, made note of what had happened to her thus far in a small journal that Ginny had insisted that she keep, and had then found herself rather at a loss as to what to do with herself.

When she opened her door, however, she felt as though her heart was ready to leap out of her chest.

Strung by a rope in front of her door was a dead cat.

She had been so startled that she had let out a strangled gasp, before slamming her door shut, her heart hammering in her chest. Obviously someone was less than pleased to have her staying in the area. Gathering her wits together, and hoping her heart would slow its thunderous pace, Hermione paced over to the window and peaked out at it.

She could, of course, just banish the thing and be done with it, but she wasn't sure if Dwalin and Thorin meant for everyone under the mountain to know that she was a witch or not. While they had not indicated such in so many words, she could tell that they had been uncomfortable with it, and if people were hanging dead cats outside her door for merely being a woman? No, she didn't think that going around casting magic any which way would be earning her any favors.

She would have to deal with it on a physical level then, and the thought made her stomach churn. She had always been a self-proclaimed cat person, and this reminded her all too much of what had happened to poor Mrs. Norris all those years ago.

Rummaging into the traveling bag that she had left unshrunk, she quickly found what she was looking for. The knife that she had brought along was tucked safely into its sheath, and Hermione quickly fastened the straps around her thigh. She was not going to be going wandering around the city unarmed if there were such malevolent characters running amok.

She would need to bring evidence of this to the guardhouse though.

She quickly found a discarded piece of parchment and transfigured it into a sack. The idea of carrying the dead cat all the way to the guard house made her stomach churn, but they really ought to know. Pulling out the blade, she opened her door and holding her breath began hacking at the thick rope that held the cat. It was done quickly and she almost dropped the poor thing when the last bit of the rope was severed. Careful not to touch it, Hermione gently guided the cat into the sack.

She let out her breath and quickly shut the sack so that she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Thinking there was no time like the present, she turned smartly and shut the door of her house and was about to walk away when she stared down at the lock. There wasn't that much inside, she had left out the traveling bag which held some clothing, cooking gear and a sleeping role, but she wasn't sure she felt comfortable leaving the entire place unlocked. It would be something else that she would have to talk to the guards about. Maybe they had the key to the place.

With a sigh she shouldered her way back into the room, shrunk her pack and stuffed it hastily into her pocket. The thought of leaving it, just felt like asking for trouble. Glancing around the room, she decided that there wasn't really much more she could do. If anyone did come in, she didn't want there to be anything that would make them any more suspicious of her.

Shaking her head at the trouble, she quickly went back out her door, and was down the dim alleyway without a backwards glance.

Once she was out onto the main road though, she wished she were back in the privacy of her temporary abode. When she had walked down the street yesterday with Dwalin there had been the impolite staring that occurred, but it had mostly been dwarves trying to snatch glances on the sly. Now as she walked, her head held purposefully high, there was a constant muttering buzz that seemed to follow her and the dwarves had no reservations about stopping what they had been doing and openly appraising her. She could feel her cheeks burn at the unwarranted attention, the bag in her hand feeling like it weighed ten tons.

Was the dwarf that had left her such an ominous surprise one of the dwarves that stood on the street now? The mere thought made her palms sweet slightly, and she desperately hoped that it was not the case. Despite her long and purposeful strides, the walk seemed to be taking forever. When she had been going the opposite way with Dwalin it had all seemed to fly by so quickly, with so many new sights to take in. Now, she could care less about the amazing architecture, and just desperately wanted to be out of the open.

Finally, she saw it. The squat building that sat in the middle of the main road, causing the road to split off into two directions. There was a single guard standing outside of the building, and as she approached she could feel the dwarf's eyes on her. She had expected to be let in with little trouble, but as she moved to climb the short stairs into the building the guard had thrust his spear in front of her path.

"What business do you have here?" the dwarf asked. His tone was cold and suspicious, and the cold eyes that glared down at her did nothing to ease her worries. Were all dwarves like this, Hermione thought to herself. Were Thorin, Balin and even the unsociable Dwalin exceptions to the rule?

"I have come to see if Dwalin was here. I have something to discuss with him," Hermione said, keeping her voice steady as she met the dwarf's hard stare.

"He is not here," the dwarf replied quickly, although Hermione could not help but notice the way his gaze flickered slightly towards the building. "You will just have to try again later."

"Maybe there is someone else here that I might talk to?" Hermione tried. She was not leaving without talking to someone about this.

"Dwalin is the guardmaster. If you have business with him, you will have to speak with only him," the dwarf replied slightly smugly.

"I guess I will just have to wait then," Hermione replied, struggling to keep her own voice light. That did not seem to please the dwarf at all.

"There will be no loitering outside of the guardhouse!" he said, his voice fierce.

"Then maybe I could wait inside?" Hermione suggested, her patience growing shorter by the moment.

"Absolutely not."

"Look, I spent a good part of the day yesterday sitting in one of the rooms upstairs, surely I can -"

"Firun!" a new voice barked from the top of the stairs. Glancing up, Hermione felt her shoulders sag in relief. It was Dwalin. "Let the woman in."

Looking sour, the dwarf lifted his spear out of the way, and Hermione quickly climbed the stairs to where Dwalin stood. "Mr Dwalin -" she began before he cut her off.

"In," he said brusquely as he turned and walked further into the guardhouse, not turning to see if she was following him. He lead her into a small room, which upon looking around, was most certainly his office. He sat down behind a mighty stone desk, it's top so polished that the candles that sat upon its top made the surface gleam. "I believe I told you yesterday not to be making any trouble, and first thing today you come searching me out at the guard house," he said, breaking the silence.

"It was not me that was making the trouble," Hermione replied quickly, holding out the bag.

Eyeing the bag suspiciously, Dwalin raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "What's in the bag."

"A cat."

Dwalin's face wrinkled up in disgust, and he made no move to take the proffered sack. "Why in Mahal's name do you have," he paused sniffing cautiously, "a dead cat."

"It was hung outside my door," Hermione responded matter of factly.  "I don't know if all of the visitors you have are treated in such a manner, but I will admit that opening my door to find a dead cat hanging in front of my face was not what I was expecting."

"Aye," Dwalin muttered, a rough calloused hand rubbing over his brow in frustration, "I expect not. Put the cat outside the door. I will see that someone disposes of the beast."

"And the dwarf that did this?" Hermione asked.

"I will have someone ask around and see if anyone saw anything odd," Dwalin replied as he leaned back in his chair.

This somehow did little to dampen the worry that she felt. She knew that were relatively little that he could do. In all likelihood if anyone had seen anything, and they were not keen on her staying the wouldn't say anything. "I would like the key to the house that you put me in."

Dwalin grunted in acknowledgement. "I dont have it in my possession, but I will have one of the lads drop it off when I do."

Hermione nodded at this. "Do you think this sort of thing will continue?"

At this, Dwalin let out a low sigh, before looking up at her, his gaze intent. "More than likely. The dwarrows that live here are not the most trusting bunch you will ever find," he said slowly, his eyes searching her face, but for what Hermione was not sure. "If you are looking for hospitality you would be better suited to try the Iron Hills."

"How unfortunate," Hermione said, with a small sigh of her own. "I seem to recall that someone said the roads would be impassable until the late spring."

At this, Dwalin let out a short bark of laughter. "Aye, lass. So they are." He stood up and took the sack from her, laying it against the wall. "Give the dwarrows some time. Once they see that nothing has really changed they will likely back off." He opened his door for her, before turning back. "I will post a guard outside your home this evening."

Hermione let out a tiny breath she hadn't known she had been holding. "Thank you," she said simply.

Dwalin only nodded. "Until then, try and stay out of trouble."

A small smile made it's way onto her face. Despite the bland manner in which Dwalin had said it, she could detect the slight hint of humor under it. Stay out of trouble, indeed. "I will try," she replied.

"That's all I ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it is short. This has been sitting on my computer for weeks upon weeks. I debated with myself about adding the next portion onto the end of this chapter, but I feel that it will make a better chapter by itself. 
> 
> So, the story is not dead. Hurray! 
> 
> .... now I just have to keep on writing....


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